


the color in the footsteps you leave behind

by MasterLillyclaw



Category: Hyouka & Kotenbu Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Color Blindness, F/M, Literally just canon but there's soulmates, Mild Language, Not horribly unreliable but it is Oreki, Post-Anime Spoilers, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:08:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23145211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MasterLillyclaw/pseuds/MasterLillyclaw
Summary: “She’s not the sort of person you can just ignore.”After meeting Chitanda, color begins seeping its way into Houtarou’s life – but he doesn’t care one way or the other. However, as their first year of high school continues, he finds himself tugged along in the current of this (allegedly) rose-colored thing called ‘youth.’
Relationships: Chitanda Eru/Oreki Houtarou, Fukube Satoshi & Oreki Houtarou, Fukube Satoshi/Ibara Mayaka
Comments: 10
Kudos: 67





	1. Charcoal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't read the Hyouka novels (which, you should, and you can [here](https://www.baka-tsuki.org/project/index.php?title=Hyouka)) then just this first chapter has some Volume 6 spoilers; the rest should be spoiler-free.
> 
> If you don't want spoilers but still want to read this chapter, you can read up through "So Houtarou listens to what words other people use, and he learns." (But also, go read the novels!)

If anyone were to ask, Houtarou Oreki would insist he can recognize colors just fine. When the question inevitably comes up during classes at elementary school, he can identify crayons, and traffic lights, and the order of the parts of the rainbow. Even all the other stuff, too – he knows the colors of the sky and the dirt and everything that lies in between them, probably.

He just can’t _see_ them.

***

It wasn’t uncommon, he was told, as far as soulmate traits go. When Tomoe took him to a doctor appointment near the end of his final year at preschool, she brought up the possibility of color blindness based on family history – that was the first Houtarou had heard of it. Well, specifically, she told the nurse, who wrote it down on a piece of paper and nodded sagely before promising that the doctor would ‘be right with them.’

The doctor was most certainly _not_ right with them, Houtarou noted, swinging his legs as he sat on the big patient’s seat with the crinkly paper. Tomoe had brought something to read, so Houtarou was stuck looking at all the wall murals as he waited. A sea-themed painting decorated the wall behind him, so he spent his time coming up with names for all the fish.

Finally, an exhausting five minutes later, the doctor arrived, several pieces of paper and a manila folder in hand. But the doctor didn’t say anything about making them wait, and neither did Tomoe, so Houtarou took it in stride.

“Houtarou, I’d like you to take a look at a few pictures I’ve brought with me, if that’s alright with you.” He glanced over at the papers in the doctor’s hand, but she smiled at him and continued before he could respond. “All you need to do is look at it and tell me if you see anything. It could be a number, or a pattern, or maybe nothing at all!”

“Okay.” It sounded easy enough, and the doctor held the paper very steadily for him while she sat in the special doctor chair, letting him look closely at it.

He was probably supposed to be doing something about noticing color, since that’s what Tomoe said before, but to him the paper just showed a circle made up of smaller circles, all the same shade of ‘green.’

“Do I tell you the color?”

“Tell me whatever you like about it. Anything you notice is fine, Houtarou.”

“It’s green. And circles.”

The doctor smiled. “Good! And how about this one?”

She kept showing him papers, and he kept responding; they all seemed to be made up of the tiny circles clumped together into a big one, but the color was different each time. At some point, he realized that surely by now, he should have noticed a pattern in them. Why would she ask him to point out patterns if none of them were going to have patterns?

Houtarou leaned in closer, the waxy paper beneath his hands crumpling as he grabbed onto the seat for balance, and tried to gather as much detail as possible from the thin sheet of paper – but nothing stuck out except a singular, dull shade of what he read as ‘blue.’ It was frustrating, and maybe the doctor realized that because she reminded him to just do his best. He nodded, and kept trying, but then she held up the last page and he still hadn’t come up with a single answer.

Despite that, the doctor smiled bright once again as she gathered the papers back into the manila folder. “Thank you, Houtarou. You did very well.”

It didn’t feel that way, but then there were other tests: he read letters off a paper on the wall, and got a light shined in his eyes like how the glasses doctor would do for Dad sometimes. And, after that, she pulled out a hard candy that had been tucked into her coat to give him; it was sweet and a little butterscotch-y on his tongue, so he sucked it with glee.

Then it was time for Tomoe to hear the Important Adult Information, but Houtarou got to listen in too, even though the doctor’s back was facing him now.

“I wrote this all down, so please don’t worry about memorizing every little detail. Just give the paper to your father when you have the chance, okay? Houtarou certainly has achromatopsia – complete color blindness – as I’m sure you could see from the tests. However, he doesn’t show any of the secondary signs, such as light sensitivity or reduced acuity; this would suggest it to be the manifestation of his soulmate trait, rather than a usual condition. He hasn’t shown any other traits, correct? I didn’t notice the common ones, like a phrase on the wrist, or a double heartbeat.” Tomoe nodded in assent. “Good.”

The doctor turned back to Houtarou for a moment, smiling that same smile. He wondered if her cheeks ever got tired from all that grinning. “Well, Houtarou, your body is doing just fine. I’m certain you won’t have any problems, but even if you do, we’ll be here to help, okay? And once you meet your soulmate, I promise you’ll see the world in the most wonderful of colors.”

He nodded, more focused on not accidentally crunching on his candy than on her exact words. People talked about soulmate traits in stories – about how when you met your special someone, you would know immediately – so he recognized the word, although the phrase ‘color blindness’ was confusing. As far as he was concerned, nothing had changed: he saw the world the same way he always had. If he ever met his soulmate and ‘found color,’ at least it’d be easy to tell.

And, if he didn’t ever find them, at least he wouldn’t be stuck with any frustrating side effects.

***

As it turns out, dealing with color blindness at elementary school is even easier than Houtarou had imagined. Despite seeming to be on one hand an extremely popular topic, it is apparently taboo to ask someone directly to reveal their trait, so no one plucks his brain for the information. All he has to do is be careful, and read the crayon labels before putting wax to paper.

A certain level of sensitivity is always missing – try as he might, he can never quite see the numbers supposedly hidden in those color tests from the doctor – but the trees in the summer are different from the trees in the fall, and the grass on the ground is different from the trees, and the flowers in the grass are different than the grass. So Houtarou listens to what words other people use, and he learns.

It’s easiest to remember with the flowers.

Tanaka discovers his color blindness their last year at elementary when she asks an innocent question on their very first day watering the school’s flowers together. They’ve mostly planted seeds, but to brighten the flowerbed in the meantime, a few already-blooming plants are sprinkled in.

“Which is your favorite flower, Oreki? I’ve only seen pictures of them, but I think snapdragons are really pretty. I hope we can plant some for this spring.”

Houtarou doesn’t know much about plants, so he picks one currently lying in the flowerbed. “I like these ones a lot. The green petals are interesting.”

“Oreki, those are daffodils – they’re yellow...”

“...”

Tanaka connects the dots quickly after that, but she takes it in stride. They stay with the flowers much longer than necessary that day, as Tanaka points out the name and color of each plant in the garden. There are all sorts of ways to tell apart plants, as it turns out: the leaves and the stems, the number of petals, and how many flowers are clustered in a bunch. All these features come together to mark each individual plant. How Tanaka already knows so much is beyond him.

Before they part, she wraps her pinky around his, an extra-sincere look on her face. “I promise, I’ll never _ever_ tell anyone your secret!”

Not that Houtarou would mind; his sister and dad know, and the teachers probably know because they have records about that sort of thing, and doctors also keep records, so he guesses they know too – but he nods along regardless. She smiles at that, and sort of shakes their intertwined pinkies in affirmation of the promise before leaving.

***

Houtarou wonders, sometimes, watering the plants by himself while Tanaka takes the bus home because of construction, what trait his soulmate has. Pairs aren’t guaranteed to have the same trait, so he has no way to figure it out for sure, but it gives him something to think about during the long stretch of time alone. When he’d first started the solo work, he’d been too busy keeping track of how much water the different flowers needed – Tanaka had always been better at that than he had – but now even that comes second nature to him.

So he waters, and he thinks, alone in the patch of monochrome hues.

***

The last time Houtarou fills up the school watering can at the nearby hose, the snapdragons are just barely beginning to bloom. It’s the final day of class before everyone moves up to Kaburaya Middle School, but the undercurrent of excitement amidst the graduating class seems to have skipped over Houtarou in its whimsy.

He is gray, and the flowers are gray, and his world is gray; that’s simply how things were and are and will be.

Thinking otherwise is just too tiring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used to think all-lowercase chapter titles were weird but I thought up this one and now I love them. And I'm trying a different summary style than "In which X" this time around too :D
> 
> Anyways, thank you for reading this first chapter; starting next chapter, it'll be the main plot!


	2. Lavender

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> huehuehue main plot time :3

“Studying... Sports... Romance... It’s only the first week of school, but I don’t need to see color to see what people mean by this ‘rose-colored’ high school youth. All this wasteful energy expenditure is exhausting to watch.”

Houtarou glances out the window as he speaks, a shiver crawling up his spine as he spots some club members cartwheeling to attract prospects amidst the cherry blossoms in the courtyard. Was it a gymnastics club? Or maybe a yoga club? Didn’t these people have to go home eventually?

Regardless, as an offering to restore to the universe some of that spent effort, he slumps over his desk lethargically, awaiting Satoshi’s response.

“Well, if anyone can successfully lead a gray-colored life, it’s you, Houtarou.”

“Hrmph.” He’d set himself up for that one, bringing up his color blindness alongside the rose metaphor. Of course, it’s not as though he disproves of the rose-colored life, metaphorical or otherwise. But... “If I don’t have to do it, I won’t. If I have to do it, make it quick.”

“Masochism, cynicism, laziness; call it what you want, gray is gray.” Satoshi’s lips curl upward like a Cheshire cat when Houtarou gives no reply, taking advantage of the lapse to trail into some nonsense about instrumentalism as the sun begins settling down along the horizon. Inevitably, the conversation turns to going home for the day, which forces Houtarou to pull out his club application and the letter from his sister.

His friend’s grin only spreads wider and wider as he discovers Houtarou’s circumstances, and his apparently sadistic satisfaction grows so large as to drive Houtarou to _want_ to make the necessary effort to check out the clubroom, if only to do it on his own. He grumbles as much, knowing Satoshi won’t take it to heart.

“Look on the bright side; you’ll have the clubroom all to yourself!”

His sister’s request is (slightly) more appealing once Houtarou looks at it that way.

Of course, the Classics Club room just has to be on the fourth floor, and not even in the main General Block of the campus. It’s sequestered away in the corner of the top floor of the Special Purposes Block – almost as remote as a class can be. Great for alone time, worse for travel time.

As Houtarou climbs the full set of stairs and arrives at the locked door to the Geology Room, pinpricks of pain begin settling into his temples. Either he’d listened to Satoshi rant for too long earlier, or his body was giving up from physical exertion – or both. Luckily, he’d collected the key to the room before starting the upstairs trek, so Houtarou steps into his new solitary haven in preparation for a nap.

Solitary, that is, except for the girl standing at the windowsill, whose hair is so jet-black that Houtarou knows immediately it would look the same even in color. She spins around as he enters, surprise written all over her face. While for the most part she appears to have all the elegance of a young high school girl, her eyes betray something different – something Houtarou would describe as ‘inefficient,’ although Satoshi might label it ‘energetic.’

In the moments before the girl in the clubroom regains her composure, Houtarou finds himself staring at those eyes that stare intently back. They swirl with something else, something beyond the brimming cheerfulness of youth, that he’s never seen before in his life. If he had, he’s certain he’d have remembered such a scene with absolute clarity. It’s not just a reflection of the evening light – Satoshi’s eyes earlier had been nothing like this, and the feeling remains even as she turns away from the glow of the window to face him directly. But it’s surely _something,_ and he can’t look away, even as the pressure in his skull mounts, screaming at him to sit down or turn away or at least move, damnit –

When she closes her eyes in a smile of greeting, the sensation vanishes, flickering out of existence faster than it had even appeared. He can’t put a name to it, but whatever it was leaves him so disoriented he nearly doesn’t catch her greeting.

“Hello. You must be Oreki, from the Classics Club, right?”

She opens her eyes again to look at him, and the feeling returns, almost nauseating with the force it draws him in. Houtarou can’t shift his gaze, so he stares, distracted, until he realizes he should probably at least respond before he’s branded a creeper.

Hadn’t she just said his name, too?

“... Who’re you?”

“Don’t you remember? My name is Eru; Eru Chitanda.”

No, he did _not_ remember an unusual name like that, nor the unforgettable appearance attached to it.

“You’re Houtarou Oreki, right? From Class 1-B? I’m from Class 1-A.”

He scans through the possibilities of their having met before. Although his brain still hums with alertness, it is no longer distracting, and he can parse through his thoughts to arrive at the most feasible conclusion. “You wouldn’t happen to be in my music class, would you?” Electives have only been held once so far this term, so it’s a minuscule possibility, but at least more plausible than having met her at the entrance ceremony or something –

“Yup!”

Okay then. She managed to remember his name and face from that one class, despite Houtarou being near-certain he hadn’t looked up from his desk even once that period. Either her memory is insane, or she is.

***

“I’m curious!” Her hands suddenly wrap around his, and those eyes he can’t turn away from are so immeasurably close. At this distance, he can see himself reflected in their pale depths. Despite that, Chitanda leans in further still – drawing out a snicker from the now-present Satoshi at Houtarou’s misfortune – to emphasize her oh-so-vital opinions about the locked door to the clubroom. “I’m _really_ curious about it!”

Maybe it’s a bit of both.

***

The three of them bounce ideas back and forth in the remaining evening light of the Geology Room. There isn’t much they can draw deductions from, but Chitanda’s tidbit of information – the unusual sound coming from below the floorboards – is enough to give him an idea. Houtarou leaves the clubroom immediately, not bothering to explain, and he can hear Chitanda scrambling after him while Satoshi follows from further behind at a leisurely pace.

As expected, the janitor comes out from the classroom below the Geology Room, locking the door behind himself with a master key just as they turn the corner of the staircase onto the third floor; case closed.

Chitanda sings his praises as they finally grab their things and head off school grounds. Houtarou can’t help but want to interject; had it been a more complicated endeavor, he would’ve simply gone home on the spot. The school gate isn’t in danger of closing for at least another half hour, but he wouldn’t want to take any chances and be forced into expending additional energy as a result.

He considers saying as much, but she turns her gaze once again towards him, the admiration in her voice reflected in her eyes, and the complaints catch in his throat. They walk together past the school gate and toward the bike rack; apparently, Satoshi isn’t the only one of them who bikes to school.

It is only once they reach the intersection near the corner of campus that their newly elected Classics Club President smiles once again, unblinking as her eyes trace over him during her goodbyes. She splits off to cross the street, and that last lingering disorientation - buzzing at the back of Houtarou’s mind ever since meeting Chitanda earlier - finally settles. It had probably been his very soul, so aligned against the ways of the energetic, calling out in warning against the curious demons she held trapped within her own. Today’s experience alone was enough to confirm it: future dealings with Chitanda would almost certainly require effort.

Houtarou sighs, which leads Satoshi to swing his drawstring bag about with cheer, having nowhere near enough consideration to hide his satisfaction with today’s turn of events.

It is only because he hangs his head so low, succumbing to gravity to make up for his spent energy, that Houtarou’s gaze falls to the flowers on the edge of the path, and his temples flare up again in warning. He’s seen these flowers before, in the flowerbed at his elementary school. Words he doesn’t remember remembering echo back to him in a child’s voice.

_”Rosy dew plant. They’re succulents, and depending on the time of year, the flowers are either pink or purple. Right now, they’re purple. Aren’t the little leaves so cute?”_

Back then, he wouldn’t have called them purple, but they had certainly been their own identifiable shade, just like every other flower he’s ever watered.

“Hey, Satoshi?”

“Hmm? Yeah, what is it?”

“What color are those flowers right there? The ones up against the school fence.” Houtarou doesn’t point out which plant he means; they’re the only flowers in the general vicinity, growing out of the cracks in cement near the fence, so there’s not much to mix them up with.

“Uhh... Purple, I guess? Maybe a magenta, or a deep mauve, but really just purple.” Satoshi turns his head to Houtarou. “Why’d you ask? I thought you could tell apart colors well enough. You okay?”

“... No reason. Thanks.” He resumes walking, just fast and sudden enough that his shorter friend is forced to take large strides to get back in step. As soon as Houtarou turns his heel from the plant, the throbbing settles back down, but he files away what he can recall of the feeling for later consideration.

The rest of their journey moves in companionable silence, excluding the pattering of their footfalls against the sidewalk and the occasional car driving past them on the street. Eventually, Satoshi branches off towards his own home, allowing Houtarou to reflect on today’s events distraction-free. He almost wants to head back to the flowers, just to check, but they’re back at the school and he’s only a couple blocks from his house, so instead he pictures them in his mind. No unease follows with his mental reconstruction, although the sensation had certainly been present earlier.

Rosy dew plant; it is ‘purple’ to him, its own unique combination of saturation and brightness. He’s seen other purple things too, of course: crayons and colored pencils and markers, and clothes as well. Up until now, he’s known what the purple of his vision is.

Now, though, on his journey home, purple appears to be the _something_ in Chitanda’s eyes that he hadn’t been able to place. A color that he’s never seen before, that hadn’t appeared until just today, less than an hour ago. Suddenly, it’s obvious why he was drawn to Chitanda’s gaze, why he couldn’t tear his eyes from her even though it hurt to look.

He had been seeing his first color in her.

Houtarou gives a quick prayer of apology to white, gray, and black; they’re colors too, and he means them no disrespect.

But seeing this change means that he can see real hues – purple, at least, has undeniably changed - and that means that, at some point today, Houtarou had met his soulmate.

Nobody is home to receive him, so Houtarou doesn’t call out “I’m back” or pause to take off his shoes at the entryway. He heads straight for his bedroom, sliding his backpack from his shoulders to the floor, kicking off his shoes to the side, and flicking on the ceiling light all in one swift action. His desk and chair are in the far corner of the room, so Houtarou sits instead at the edge of his bed, but ideas keep swirling past before he can snag a coherent train of thought.

He leans over, unconsciously grabbing at his bangs and tilting his head downward just the slightest degree; as the gears slowly click into place, Houtarou finally begins to think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: rosy dew plant is (probably) the flower from near the end of the first Hyouka anime opening. I used an app called PlantSnap that identified it as Lampranthus roseus, which I still find impressive since all I submitted was that picture of the plant from the opening.
> 
> Anyways, thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!


	3. Sapphire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having a lot of fun re-contextualizing bits of canon around the existence of soulmates, so I do hope the changes are logical! After you read something so many times, it starts to become a blur of words @.@

That evening, Houtarou settles on three theories.

One: His soulmate is Eru Chitanda, the person he first saw color in.

Two: His soulmate is someone he'd met earlier that day, but because he hadn’t seen any purple until meeting Chitanda, he was therefore only able to recognize the change at that moment in the clubroom – or, well, close enough to that moment.

Three: This change isn’t related to soulmates at all, and Houtarou has either accidentally stumbled across the cure for colorblindness or it’s something that naturally fades over time, eventually turning one’s vision color-sensitive.

The third theory is the least likely, but Houtarou leaves it as an option. Not only because it would be the easiest for him to deal with, but because it can’t yet be disproven; having scoured his house for all the pictures he can find, he knows that the only color that has changed is purple, and the doctors never mentioned color vision returning piecemeal. Then again, he hadn’t exactly asked.

He could pen a letter to Tomoe, but even assuming she was still at the same address her last letter had been sent from, knowing his sister, he wouldn’t get a straight response. Their limited internet connection is of no help either, only loading a few vague forum responses that all confirmed soulmate trait colorblindness would be resolved, but not the details on how.

Houtarou leans back in his desk chair as he exits the tabs one by one. If he can prove at the minimum that this change is soulmate-related, he can at least discount the third theory – but then, how to prove it? Nothing comes to mind.

His thoughts move to his first theory, which makes him think of Chitanda, which makes him think of Chitanda’s eyes, and Houtarou decides immediately to _not_ think about the finer details of one Eru Chitanda. That is no longer something to be thought about today. Sorry, Houtarou of tomorrow, it’s your problem now.

So, the second theory. It’s possible, since he’s apparently already run into Chitanda during their music class, and he certainly would have noticed something purple in the interim of their two meetings if being in the same class was enough to count. Is there a proximity requirement to activating soulmate traits? What does it even mean to ‘meet’ someone? Do you have to talk to them? Touch them?

If there’s a book that could explain this for him, Houtarou would love to read it – but the thought of going to the library and asking for a stack of soulmate-related theories and novels makes him feel like a starry-eyed, rose-colored, obnoxious brat in love. Even if he does look, first meetings between soulmates aren’t exactly scientifically replicable experiences, so any research on them is, at best, probably a collection of personal accounts via case studies.

Beyond Chitanda, it could be anyone he's met today. With recruitment for clubs in full swing, people shoving, pushing, yelling, and all-around being too much in his personal space, that leaves a severe margin for error. Kamiyama High has around a thousand students – not a large number by school standards, but it’s certainly a formidable haystack for needle-hunting.

Then again, if his soulmate does exist, they must have a trait as well, which means _they_ also have a way to find _him._

Perfect.

Houtarou grabs some pajamas from his hamper and heads to the bathroom to shower. With the duty of soulmate-searching pushed off onto this unknown ‘other’ whose fate is supposedly tied to his, he can put his own efforts to rest. Why bother looking for someone who is probably searching for him anyways? If they find him, great. If not... meh, whatever.

***

School continues, and Houtarou takes some time to adjust to the singular hue introduced into his life. With no further changes in his color vision, the adaptation is simple, and purple quickly stops leaving his head pounding at the sight of it.

Nobody steps forward claiming to be his soulmate, either, so he can spend his precious energy reserves on more important matters – like preventing Chitanda from investigating the rumor of the ghost in the music room. He wants to stop her, to tell her to go home so he can finish his essay, but her eyes glimmer with the same trust and excitement currently written across the rest of her face, and he falters.

“Have you heard about the mysterious secret club recruitment notes?” It’s a gamble, but if Satoshi plays along, he can finish his essay, head to the front of the school to ‘solve’ the mystery, and still get home before dark.

It succeeds, thanks to a distraction from Satoshi that allows him to swiftly stick his manufactured note under a flyer from the Baseball Club. But somehow, it's less rewarding than the resolution of their first mystery.

“Inexperienced first years trying to be rebels. I’ll never forget that!” Chitanda lights up, sweetly, earnestly, at the explanation for the lies he’s just fed her.

Maybe because he’d known the answer to it all along, it hadn’t been satisfying to resolve – or perhaps he's too tired to find enjoyment in anything after (re)writing that essay.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were just making a sorry excuse.”

Satoshi chides him on the way home, and his friend’s words – the assuming explanations of Houtarou’s own behavior – sit uncomfortable in his stomach, hitting a bit too close to home.

***

“If it’s Oreki, then he could...” Chitanda whispers those words not once, but twice during their visit to Ibara at the library. Although in the moment, the statement plucks – just briefly, mind you – at his curiosity, he inevitably files it away as one of the many unusual quirks of their Classics Club President.

When the group of four parts ways for the evening, Houtarou pauses to look around the library, since he rarely visits. Hundreds of books are gathered on these shelves, wrapped in all sorts of bindings. He can identify the shades of their covers, for the most part: one book down and on his left is a pale red, another around his eye level a deep green. The large tome they’d investigated earlier had been bound in dark blue leather – it was more impressive in size than color.

Bits and pieces of the library, though, shine like small gems. It’s not that the purple stands out amongst the gray, now that the headaches are gone – only Chitanda’s eyes still bore into him, but that’s likely a feature of their owner – but he feels drawn to them, as if their contents could hold the answer as to why he sees them and only them differently.

One such book is within his arm’s reach, so he tugs it off the self, paying mind to the volumes it had been sandwiched between.

 _Theory of Colours,_ by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe.

... What is this doing in a high school library? He flips to a random page out of curiosity, finds it full of mind-numbing jargon, and immediately slides it back into its place on the shelf. Even if it does hold all the answers, no answer is worth reading through _that._

Houtarou returns home, Chitanda’s behavior that day already forgotten.

***

Saturday is wonderful; there's no homework due Monday, so Houtarou decides against working ahead in his classes in favor of practicing his couch-laying technique. It requires much dedication, but he manages a full day of it.

This was to be his plan for Sunday as well, but the phone call waking him up threatens otherwise.

Chitanda wants to meet up – today, not during the school week – so he picks a nearby coffee shop he knows isn’t so loud or busy as to be obnoxious. They agree to meet at half past one, but Houtarou has difficulty relaxing on the couch at home once he’s dressed to head out, so he wanders over early and orders a coffee while he waits. She arrives, unsurprisingly, right on time, dressed far nicer than him.

Despite her well-timed arrival, the longer they sit at the table, the less willing to speak of why she’d called him out Chitanda seems to be. She fidgets with the hem of her dress, the lacy tablecloth, the cream in her coffee – anything to keep her focus off him.

“Was there something you wanted to talk about? Why’d you want to meet up?” Houtarou breaks the uncomfortable silence before even five minutes pass; he has places to be. Mainly, ‘not here, if possible.’

“Well, you’re the one who recommended this place...”

With an evasive answer like that, she clearly doesn’t want to talk about whatever she’d supposedly wanted to talk about. It’s not a game he feels much like playing today. “That’s it, I’m going home.”

“No, please don’t go! I’m just – I’m just a bit nervous, okay?”

Obviously.

He sits back down. Leaving her upset here wouldn’t bode well for their unavoidable future encounters at school.

“What is there to be so nervous about? Are you about to make a confession, tell me we’re soulmates?”

It’s a pretty basic joke, just to see if he can get a rise out of her or at least calm her down. He isn’t even looking right at her when he speaks, too busy positioning his arm as a comfortable headrest – because he’s honestly not trying to use this situation to extract information about the peculiarity of his color blindness. However, from across the table, Chitanda lifts her gaze to stare directly at him, her features settling into a more serious expression. It’s a new look on her; she’s normally curious, or excited, or pleased.

“There may be something I’d like to confess to you, yes...”

His head nearly slips off his hand and bangs into the table at that. It's a joke; just a joke! But – what other sorts of confessions do people get called out for? Maybe it’s a trick of the light coming through the curtained window, but Chitanda’s purple irises seem to tremble with anticipation. She breathes in, drawing his attention briefly to her lips, but his gaze inevitably flickers back to her eyes. They draw him in; he just can’t help it.

Unwillingly, his heart beats a bit faster in his chest, expending more energy than usual as his mind tries to fit the pieces together. He doesn’t dare say it, but the longer he holds her gaze, the more the thought comes to mind, unbidden, unwarranted, unnecessary.

_A... soulmate confession?_

She’s certainly had some time to discern if Houtarou is her soulmate, as they’ve spent a good handful of school afternoons together in the Classics Club room. Maybe she’d wanted to see if he would say something first, but is now attempting to take the initiative?

“... Right.”

Does this coffee shop always have such poor air conditioning? He should file a complaint; the heat is intense enough to make his face feel unbearably flushed.

“Okay, the truth is...”

The longer she hesitates, the louder his heartbeat grows. It becomes so loud he can’t hear the clock ticking on the wall, can barely hear her speaking – can she hear it too? Her gaze freezes him in place.

“... Here goes...”

He wants to close his eyes, to turn his head away, to leave and go home.

He can’t.

“I need help! I have a favor to ask you!”

A.

A what?

Houtarou finally blinks, trying not to gawk as Chitanda’s nerves flitter away and she explains the full story. She speaks of her uncle, Jun Sekitani, and his relationship with the Classics Club of old; she speaks of her curiosity, her desire to learn the truth, and how she thinks he can help.

If Houtarou were inclined to be more open with his feelings, he would have started sliding down the booth seat in shame as Chitanda’s monologue continued. Luckily, he isn't, so he sits still, the same neutral expression on his face.

He doesn’t agree to help, of course, but before he can explain in full, she already appears so downcast, clearly upset at having been a bother. What had shifted in her body language from nervousness to pleading now settles as despair. Maybe there’s a less drastic word for it, but the sorrowful framing of her eyes, eyebrows knit with worry as she tilts her head downward in shame, the one color in his world shifting away from him – Houtarou can only see it as something severe.

If he doesn’t have to, he won’t; but to Chitanda, this is something that must be done. And, in his sister’s ever-polite phrasing, he doesn’t have anything better to do anyways. So – with conditions – he agrees to at least _assist_ in the matter, and despair swings right back around to glee. She thanks him repeatedly after that, not a single emotion tucked away beneath her bubbling gratefulness.

That is the end of her request – the end of her confession. With such an earnest nature, it’s surely impossible for her to have expertly hidden any personal feelings about him during their conversation. Even when he’d joked about soulmates, Chitanda had been filled only with thoughts of her uncle; her view of Houtarou was only relevant in relation to that all-consuming desire to know.

Whoever had triggered Houtarou to see color in Chitanda’s eyes that day, it could not have been Eru Chitanda herself, that much is certain.

***

A rose-colored life. Who had originally coined that phrase? Had they looked at the cherry blossoms fluttering down at the beginning of the school year and pinned the picture as the epitome of high school life, without consideration for the difficulties that lay ahead?

Houtarou rolls over in his bed, thinking of Jun Sekitani and his sacrifices for Kamiyama High. According to Tomoe, it had been a tragedy – but what made it so? To most, it could be a simple story of heroic sacrifice.

But a nebulous ‘most people’ by no means determines what Sekitani himself thought of it. Rose-colored beginnings or not, a story that starts vibrant and full of hope is not required to end the same way.

Through what lens did Sekitani see the resolution of his high school life? Had he held up the rose-tinted filter willingly, smiling at the story of the sacrificial hero? Or was it – behind the screen – all tones of gray?

He needs to know.

***

“Did Jun Sekitani wish to become a shield for the entire student body?” Houtarou had plenty of time to hone his question, in the hours before the Classics Club’s appointment with Mrs. Itoikawa and even during it. As he summarizes the information the club has learned thus far for her, the gap in their estimation grows all the more apparent.

The Head Librarian explains those final missing details of Sekitani’s high school experience to a quiet room. Houtarou doesn’t realize until his clubmates question it, but maybe he’d figured out the answer to the meaning of _Hyouka_ that first time he truly questioned if Sekitani held no regrets towards what happened those thirty-something years ago.

Even with Houtarou’s explanation, Chitanda still doesn’t grasp the wordplay, so with unexpected frustration pounding at his temples, Houtarou grabs one of their theory’s reference papers still lying on the desk and scribbles a message onto it:

_I scream_

The words dig into his skull as he stares back down at the page. It’s his handwriting, with his pen, on a paper he’s seen multiple times already, but the words burn on the paper as he looks, until he can’t look at them anymore.

He holds up the note for Chitanda to examine, and for once, his eyes are drawn away from hers – to the navy of her uniform’s skirt, brushed over with a color he’s never seen before. Now his head spins, trying to balance the shifts in his vision dotted throughout the room with the tears rolling down Chitanda’s face. Nobody moves, unwilling to upset the balance, but she eventually speaks, lifting the weights off everyone’s shoulders as she finds closure in the memories brought back to light.

As she smiles, wiping at her still-wet eyes, Houtarou tears his gaze away to forcibly take in the shades of blue he is seeing for the first time, to acknowledge the undeniable reminder pounding at his head. The new color is so oppressive it leaves swirling imprints on his vision as he looks around, threatening to overwhelm him. He breathes in slowly, refusing to shut his eyes closed, and balances this new hue with the familiar, calm pools of amethyst in Chitanda’s eyes.

Now that he can place this headache-inducing pressure, he wonders exactly what triggered it this time – but with the mystery solved, Mrs. Itoikawa sends them on their way, and the moment is lost.

***

With said mystery answered, the Classics Club can turn their gaze towards the upcoming Cultural Festival, and their anthology along with it. Houtarou is forced to buy a new pen, one with black ink, as constant staring at the scribblings of his first draft for the anthology piece - inked in deep blue - gives him headaches that halt his work altogether. The purchase is a frustrating sacrifice, but at least one more solvable than the fact that half the population of Kamiyama swarms the school with this newly visible hue.

If only he could place it more exactly. It’s dark blue, but it creeps into purple and he can no longer remember which colors he’s seen pre-solving the Sekitani mystery and which are post-solving, and then the larger question of why he can’t see _every_ shade of blue yet comes to mind. What is arbitrarily deciding the lines between which tints he can see and which he can’t?

He could ask Satoshi, but he’d never hear the end of it. There’s an earful just waiting to be proclaimed about how this is signaling his transition into an energy-spending, rose-colored youth, and that is not a rabbit hole he’s interested in diving down. The consequences are simply not yet worth the potential database information.

Ibara is out of the question – she just is. Any admittance of color vision would probably only yield a harsh, “This is no excuse to not have those next few pages in like you promised, Oreki,” or a non-committal hum of acknowledgement if she’s in a good mood.

And if he tells Chitanda – then he’ll have to tell the whole story from the beginning (omitting the part at Café Pineapple Sandwich, because he swears that story will never reach the ears of another living soul), and the last thing he wants to hear right now is – 

“I’m curious!”

That.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Houtarou... So close, and yet so far. Whoops! :P
> 
> Anyways, thank you for reading; I hope you enjoyed this chapter!


	4. Cerulean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goodbye, final spring break of my college career, I hardly knew ya...
> 
> Updates will not be affected by school tho so no worries!

Somehow, Houtarou makes it successfully through the first term and into summer vacation – but their break is nearly at its end now, past the season of cicadas chirping through his bedroom window loud enough to upset his calm mornings in bed. Despite the brief window of time left for sleeping in, he still drags himself out of bed far too early in preparation for an outing to the school.

On the way there, he bumps into Satoshi, and for once they are not the last to arrive; although Ibara is present and ready to snap at Satoshi’s heels, Chitanda isn’t anywhere to be seen in the clubroom.

She arrives soon after, and the Classics Club meeting goes underway almost immediately, finishing within the hour. A blessing, to be sure, but just as Houtarou aims to head back home, Chitanda has a suggestion.

“Let’s watch a preview!”

Inquiry leads to explanation; explanation, to a trip to the Audio/Visual Room.

Although Houtarou doesn’t notice her upon first entering, another student appears before them from the shadows, her navy-blue dress blending well with the dim shade cast by the drawn curtains of the room. As Chitanda greets her and introduces them, he takes a closer look at the upperclassman. She seems regal, possibly stern, and her eyes flash over him when Chitanda mentions ‘Houtarou Oreki.’ He recognizes them immediately as a dark indigo – the second pair of eyes he’s seen in full color since bumping into his unknown soulmate.

But, compared to the glassy wonder constantly shining in Chitanda’s eyes, Fuyumi Irisu makes him feel as though he’s being evaluated. When she speaks, she makes her expectations clear, and Houtarou can’t help but slide his gaze away before Irisu is even done talking, releasing a held breath when she finally leaves the room. Although she’s gone, a crawling sensation lingers along his spine, as though Irisu’s eyes are still locked tightly on him.

The Class 2-F movie begins, and then it ends, apparently before it’s even finished.

Irisu reappears, confirming that the movie is currently in an unfinished state. Class 2-F’s situation is explained with barely a waver of emotion in her voice, like she isn’t involved at all but rather tying up loose ends. Houtarou can’t help but be wary of becoming a replacement screenwriter for this sort of group, or even a detective. Irisu is just a bit too assuming, as though she’s already decided the Classics Club will help before even asking.

_Especially_ when she says he’s her first choice for a ‘detective.’

But despite his expectations, she retracts her statement and apologizes for the inconvenience when he refuses. The one who pushes him – he should have known – is now Chitanda, the guilt wrapped up in all her features, her eyes flitting between him and the retreating profile of Irisu.

Thinking of Hongou’s legacy and the prospect of a play left unfinished, Chitanda’s lip trembles as she turns back and forth, staring at him with wide, innocently pleading eyes. Even in the dark of the Audio/Visual Room, they draw in the slivers of light from the last clip of the movie now frozen on screen, shining just enough for him to pick up the shades of purple in their depths.

Houtarou doesn’t know much about soulmates, but he wonders if his would be as difficult to deal with as her inescapable presence.

The offer is demoted from ‘detective’ to ‘observer,' but while Houtarou’s desire to decline is only rising, Chitanda’s apparent willpower skyrockets at even higher speeds.

So, reluctantly, he caves. “We can do that, I guess.”

Chitanda smiles wide, which is a relief, but the smallest hint of – smug? – satisfaction on Irisu’s face spins the wheels of worry at the back of Houtarou’s mind.

***

The next few days spent going to and from the school to listen to Class 2-F’s theories are probably the most consecutive days Houtarou has ever woken up early during summer vacation. If even one of the theorists develops a solid hypothesis, then the case will be resolved, but the Classics Club rejects first Nakajou, then Haba, then even Sawakiguchi.

Their job is only to deduce the possibility that the predictions can be reality; nothing more, nothing less.

But the profile of Fuyumi Irisu, standing right at the end of the intersection he normally splits off from Satoshi at during his walk home, suggests that, contrary to his beliefs, his job is not jet done.

“Hello. Do you mind taking some time off to have some tea with me?”

Against his better judgement, Houtarou nods in agreement.

She leads him to an actual tea house, to his surprise. Then again, just looking at the menu’s absurd prices, it seems like the sort of place rich people might relax. Despite the promise of having the tab covered, he picks an iced tea just barely within his price range.

“Nakajou’s theory didn’t pan out, then? Nor Haba’s? And neither did Sawakiguchi’s?”

Each question receives Houtarou’s nod of agreement, which earns him in return a steadfast look of contemplation. When he’d met Irisu before, he hadn’t had the chance to stare at – look carefully at – her colored irises. He’s never known her without them, so although the patterning of light swirling around in them is unfamiliar, the way she pins him down with a single glance is to be expected.

He shuffles, wondering the purpose of this meeting, until she finally responds.

“I see.”

Simply acknowledging that the theories are wrong isn’t enough. Irisu confirms, much to Houtarou’s chagrin, that he had technically been the one to disprove each theory, and she requests a summary of his reasoning. Afterwards, she bows her head – finally moving her piercing gaze from him to the table, pausing her relentless mental examination – and asks, again, for his help in finding the right answer.

He doesn’t want to. That’s the obvious reply; let him finish his summer vacation in peace, damnit!

But she lifts her eyes back up to him, and there is no longer appraisal shining in their depths but certainty. Irisu continues to speak, of benchwarmers and talented players, and something in the story keeps Houtarou listening throughout the analogy.

“It means everyone ought to recognize their own talents... Or it would be painful to watch for those without.”

Talents; inferiority complexes; a sense of self-worth. Those pools of indigo, waiting patiently, unwaveringly, for an answer from him and him alone.

His drink is gone, the probably-maybe-pale-blue cup long since returned to room temperature, when he nods in wordless assent.

***

For whatever reason, Satoshi is also going to school today; there’s no Classics Club meeting, but maybe the Handicrafts Club is planning something, or the Executive Committee. Regardless, Satoshi steps off his mountain bike, choosing to walk alongside Houtarou while pulling it instead of biking past. It’s almost auspicious, as a question has been nipping at Houtarou’s heels since last night, and Satoshi is the person best qualified to answer it.

“... Do you think there’s some things that only you can do?” Houtarou phrases the question ambiguously on purpose. Because of soulmates, everyone has at least _one_ thing that only they can do, so although it would be a boring response, it is a possible answer nonetheless.

However, Houtarou knows Satoshi, and he knows that ever since meeting Ibara in middle school, soulmates are the one topic Satoshi won’t bring up on his own – so he trusts his friend to direct the topic elsewhere.

Satoshi’s answer is fast and precise, leaving Houtarou wondering if, under all the layers of easygoing cheerfulness, there is regret hidden behind his simple “Nope.”

It could be Irisu’s words from yesterday scrambling his determination of energy-efficient conversations, but Houtarou feels he needs to respond, so he blurts out his friend’s name without even thinking of what to say.

“Satoshi.”

“Yeah?”

“... I don’t know what you’ll think of it, but I think you’re worth more than that. I think there’ll come a day when you’re one of the best Holmesians in Japan.”

As the words tumble out, Houtarou realizes it’s a decidedly _dumb_ thing to say – but although Satoshi smiles no differently than normal as he quips back, his shoulders seem just a bit lighter. That’s good enough for Houtarou.

***

“Congratulations.”

The phrase is foreign to his ears. Chitanda will gush words of admiration to the point of meaninglessness, Satoshi will give his dry laugh, and Ibara will grunt something in between ‘good job’ and ‘I could’ve done that,’ but direct praise is unusual – and the hand that stretches out before him suggests more.

Houtarou doesn’t know how to react as he feels the tips of his ears begin to warm, and he knows even less when a fleeting smile graces Irisu’s usually stern countenance. Handshakes are another uncertainty, so he does his best to grip firmly-but-not-too-firm, and she responds in kind, leaving his hand tingling at her touch.

“I was indeed right with my judgement. You have the skills, which no one else possessed, that could never be replaced.”

It’s practically intoxicating to hear: that he can fulfill others - can fulfill her expectations - through answers only he can supply. Irisu speaks with such conviction that those words echo in his mind over the next three days, leaving him refreshed for the last weekend of summer vacation.

***

The high doesn’t last long.

“Aren’t you ignoring the intent?” Ibara, not one to soften her words, seems to speak with as much delicacy as she can muster when pulling him aside after watching the finished movie.

Why had he forgotten the rope? Haba had mentioned Hongou’s explicit desire for it, so why hadn’t he put it in the movie?

“Houtarou, that movie – did you really figure out Hongou’s intention?” Satoshi speaks quietly, like he can barely believe the conversation is happening. Had Satoshi been the first to object, Houtarou may not have believed it either – but after Ibara, the statement isn’t so much a dousing of icy water as it is a repeated dunking that leaves him numb.

He doesn’t read Holmes; he couldn’t have known that Hongou wouldn’t be familiar with literary tricks. The conclusion had been logically sound, but even so, with that blaring evidence, it was clearly incorrect.

“... I don’t think it was what she wanted.” Chitanda is the most downcast of them all when she voices her worries to Houtarou. The sorrow in her gentle eyes is probably meant for something else, but it reads like disappointment to him.

She explains the most thoroughly, despite being the most unsure of why it was so upsetting. But her straightforward question – why didn’t Irisu ask anyone else? – somehow strikes through to the heart of the problem. Houtarou wasn’t explicitly asked to come on board to finish the script, but in the end, that’s all he's been: not an observer, or even a detective – just a damn substitute screenwriter.

Ice water is the best way to describe his demeanor towards Irisu when they meet the following day. She smiles at him, the same as when she had showered him with praise, but now he can’t possibly see it as genuine. Houtarou may be better at hiding his emotions than Chitanda, but he’s still worse at it than Irisu, so the upperclassman picks up immediately on the sharpness of his tone when he asks to talk, her smile already faded away by the time she responds.

He’s neither happy nor excited, but the longer he spends explaining the reality of the situation to Irisu, the louder his voice grows. It’s frustrating, overwhelmingly so, to speak to her right now and be given no emotional response.

“When you said everyone ought to recognize their own talents, was that a lie?!” His voice doesn’t crack, but the bitterness surprises him – normally, getting mad takes too much energy. But those dark eyes, that had seemed to light up in his imagination when he pleased her, stare back at him uncaringly, having already received everything required of him.

Irisu holds her smile steadfast. “It’s true I was not being completely sincere; but if you choose to call it an outright lie, that’s your choice.”

The frustration builds up into a headache, pushing its way through his temples until he can’t think about anything except the girl in front of him and how she’s twisted him around her finger like the beautiful woman in the tarot card, capable of bending the lion’s mouth shut with no effort at all.

He bends his head, no longer willing to return that unflinching gaze. “I’m not sure why... But that’s a relief.”

***

That incessant headache refuses to subside, even after he leaves the tea shop and returns home for the evening. He could try thinking things through for longer, but the way Irisu manipulated him and dropped him afterwards leaves too bitter a taste in his mouth for Houtarou to want to do any ‘detective’ work.

Not even his headache, a sign that preceded both previous changes in his color vision, is enough to drag him out of bed to investigate. That would suggest that his meeting with Irisu had caused it, which would link her to his soulmate trait, and _that_ is not something he has the energy to engage with in a mental dialogue. Potential soulmate connection or not, Irisu can go straight to hell.

Instead, Houtarou decides that the headache must be related to irritation and overexertion, so he pops an Ibuprofen and goes to bed early.

***

The medicine hasn't helped, unsurprisingly, considering his sour mood upon waking. Eating breakfast, getting dressed, going to school; it is all clouded by lingering aggravation that refuses to disperse without an outlet. Despite his hopes, the school day gives no such reprieve, and each hour crawls on at an aggravatingly slow pace.

After school, Houtarou heads to the clubroom, Chitanda already there as usual. She seems to be in a daze of her own, barely acknowledging him when he enters but continuously staring his way when she thinks he isn’t looking. He finally catches her eyes, all her features knit with worry, and breaks the ice.

“This isn’t like you, you know.”

“You’re right – but I’ve got to say, you’re not acting quite like yourself either, Oreki.”

So it's plain to see, even to Chitanda. Houtarou drags his gaze away from the window, moving from staring at nothing with eyes glazed over to facing her directly, as she tries her best to exclaim in a normal voice, “I’m curious!”

He explains his (new) best guess to her, including the rope and the proper amount of blood, no impossible literary tricks involved: a more solid estimation, based on the group effort of the Classics Club’s complaints to him. Her questions push the hypothesis forward, fulfilling every caveat possible until their guess as reached as far as it can go without asking Hongou herself for clarification.

Chitanda smiles at him, finally satisfied with her understanding of Hongou’s intentions and the ‘true’ story of the movie, and Houtarou can’t help but wonder aloud, “Was your empathy for Hongou really the only reason you were unsatisfied with everyone’s suggestions?”

“I think that Hongou and I are really similar in a lot of ways... The truth is, I don’t handle it very well when characters have to die in movies either.”

At that, the conversation lulls off, leaving Houtarou to his own thoughts. Ideas drift about haphazardly, until he suddenly notices that the pounding, pent-up irritation from before has dissipated like morning mist after talking to Chitanda. The sun, which had been so bright before as to keep his head tilted down towards the floor for most of today, is now warm and welcoming.

The sky around it is a dazzling clear blue, shining bright with vibrancy Houtarou experiences for the first time in that serene moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wo-oah, we're halfway there
> 
> WO-OAH I COULDN'T THINK OF a good rhyme for there in this context but hey we made it this far hooray :D
> 
> As always, thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed!


	5. Asparagus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do love the Cultural Festival bits, there's so many fun moments! (Then again, I think I say that about every Hyouka arc..)

Over a month has passed since the troubles with Class 2-F’s film. As the second semester is in full swing, Houtarou’s energy reserves focus on maintaining average grades in class and sitting in the Geology Room after school. Now that Tomoe has returned from abroad, the clubroom is – compared to his home – a safe haven for preserving energy. Unless there’s an absolutely pressing need, even Chitanda is content to leave him reading, napping, or otherwise relaxing in his usual seat facing the window as the days go by.

However, today is not a normal day at Kamiyama High. Beyond the number of pumped-up students, the influx of parents and other curious folk from around town, and even the countless decorations of grayscale splashed with some cooler colors of the rainbow, there is still a more critical issue that needs addressing: the 200 copies of _Hyouka_ lying on the clubroom table.

If it were up to Houtarou (it’s not), he’d simply acknowledge their losses and recycle the copies left over. Not that it’s a pleasant thought, considering the work that had gone into each article, but if the anthologies don’t sell, they don’t sell. It’s better, at least marginally, than tucking them into some spare boxes and leaving them in the clubroom to rot. Selling out would be great if it were possible, but...

A glance at the mountain in front of them says otherwise.

However, it’s not something he can say without eventual retribution at the hands of a vengeful Mayaka Ibara, so he keeps his mouth shut while the other members formulate a plan to maximize their earnings.

“But what will you do, Oreki?”

Chitanda turns his way, having decided her own course of action. Luckily, Houtarou has already planned this out.

“I will...”

“Yes?”

“Stay and watch the stall.”

And with that, Houtarou’s first Cultural Festival begins.

***

Twenty-three copies of Hyouka sell by the end of the first day. Of course, ten of those copies had been set aside immediately: two for each club member, one for their supervisor, and a final copy for preservation. That last copy will be put with the stack of previous anthologies now stored in the Geology Room ever since their encounter with Toogaito, continuing the Classics Club’s long-running tradition of Cultural Festival anthologies.

Still, selling thirteen copies legitimately is already an achievement. If they maintain this pace over the next few days, they’ll sell more than the thirty copies they’d originally planned to print.

As the self-delegated stall-watcher, efforts to increase sales are out of his hands, so Houtarou lets himself be satisfied.

***

Stall-watching is growing dull. Houtarou has no desire to dive into the rose-colored hellscape awaiting anyone who dares step foot beyond the safety of their clubroom, but the game of Straw Millionaire his sister has inadvertently started can only entertain him for so long.

After a visit from the pumpkin-headed Confectionaries Studies Club duo, he receives a bag of flour for the Glock – and some cookies, but as that’s technically a trade for the anthology, it doesn’t count. Shouldn’t his earnings be increasing in value over time? He sighs and flips back through the paperback he’d brought to pass the time, but it had been so dull, he’s lost his place. Great.

The two bags of cookies are sitting precariously close to the table’s edge, so Houtarou grabs them and moves to put them in the drawer underneath the candy box the club had acquired as a register. They’re rather nice-looking cookies, all things considered: their cut edges are clean, without damage, and the icing leaves no gaps between the elegantly piped borders. Some typical Halloween sprinkles are added on top – a decrease in professionalism, but a boost in charm and theme.

It’s not lunchtime yet, but he grabs one of the bags anyways, turning his chair towards the window so he can rest his arms on the windowsill as he snacks. From this spot in the clubroom, he can see “Wild Fire” setting up on the track field, although the competition grounds are too far away for him to recognize Satoshi, Ibara, or Chitanda.

With no book to read, Houtarou takes to absorbing the familiar views from outside the Classics Club window. Across the sky, there is a spattering of faint, wispy clouds that fail to hide the brilliant blue of the autumn sky.

Not that he normally hears the word ‘brilliant’ used to describe what is probably an everyday fall sky, but as he leans out the window, letting the faint breeze tousle his hair, the description seems apt. Now that Houtarou can see the full scale of blues and purples, the sky above is (excluding rainy days) a constant reminder of the subtle changes in his life since starting high school. He’s used to it, in the sense that he no longer dozes off, slack-jawed, from its vibrancy, forcing Satoshi to shake him awake – but he’s still not quite _used_ to it.

“Wild Fire” kicks off, briefly distracting him from his thoughts, but as his friends move through the competition with ease, he settles down once again in contemplation of soulmates and color. Without Houtarou’s noticing, the hand he isn’t holding the cookies with begins fiddling with his bangs.

He’d discovered violet during that first week of school; cause unknown, exact moment unknown. Indigo had come about when solving the _Hyouka_ incident and the meaning behind the name of the anthology – that settled the cause and moment of discovery. And then blue arose... right in the middle of his confrontation with Irisu, if the accompanying headache from that conversation had been soulmate-based rather than anger-induced. Houtarou hadn’t noticed any blue until the next day, but it was an approximate enough timeline.

Without identifying what triggered the start of it, it’s difficult to deduce a pattern. Knowing that the other Classics Club members aren’t delegates, and he’d rather live his life a lonely monochrome hermit than ever talk to Irisu again, there aren’t many other options. If it’s somehow related to proximity, he must have run into them sometime during that first week of school... meaning it could be anyone.

Below on the track field, Ibara finally arrives at “Wild Fire,” but based on the announcer’s claims and the silhouette of her turning back and forth without clear direction, it would seem she doesn’t have enough ingredients to cook with.

The bag of flour is still on the desk behind him, next to the remaining unopened bag of cookies.

Soulmates and cooking competitions; these aren’t things Houtarou has any interest in. It’s best to leave it to those who actually _care_ to figure out what to do.

***

“Satoshi! SA-TO-SHI!” Damn, it takes a lot out of him to yell. Notice already!

Finally, Satoshi hears his shout and immediately pelts over, catching the bag of flour rather elegantly for not knowing what was being dropped to him.

Houtarou rarely cooks dishes complex enough to require flour; this is less wasteful than tossing it in the trash, and it would take up unnecessary space in the table drawer otherwise.

***

“I’m _really_ curious about it.” It’s Chitanda that bears down on him with sparkling eyes later that afternoon, but Houtarou can feel Satoshi and Ibara staring at him from behind as well.

Luckily, he’d prepared an irrefutable response to any potential curiosities beforehand. “We don’t have time for a new mystery. What about our anthologies?” Houtarou mentally tacks on a ‘thank you’ to Ibara for accidentally contributing to his energy-conserving days.

But Satoshi quips back with a scheme on how to solve the mystery _and_ sell the anthologies: by taking advantage of the mind of one Houtarou Oreki.

No. No no nonono _no._ He rejects the proposal immediately, and, to his relief, the conversation turns to the possibility of the Classics Club being targeted at random.

At random? That doesn’t seem right; if Houtarou’s intuition is correct, the various clubs are in fact being stolen from in sequence. Together, the Classics Club works out the alphabetical order of attacks and the associated lettering of the items stolen – which suggests the possibility that the Classics Club may be Juumoji’s final target.

Wait, isn’t he supposed to be trying to avoid this?

The stack of anthologies still almost 150 in number lingers in his field of vision, and he caves. He can donate his cognitive abilities for the greater good of the club, so long as his position leaves him seated in the clubroom while the others skitter about. Their new plan settled, Chitanda rushes out the door to do her part, while Satoshi loiters for a moment – but whatever thoughts he has settle themselves, as his face turns serious and he leaves soon after.

Left behind with Houtarou is Ibara, her listlessness now outpacing even his. He sits in silence with her for some time as she finishes her lunch, but even though her body language reads ‘don’t talk to me,’ there are some questions he wants answered before she heads back to the Manga Club.

“Ibara, you said you’ve read Agatha Christie’s novels before, right?”

Despite the harsh edge in her tone, she confirms, and relays to him the reasoning behind _The A.B.C. Murders_ when he inquires. But then she pauses for a moment before asking, “Oreki, you really want to catch the thief now, don’t you?”

It appears his questioning has falsely suggested an interest in the case. Honestly, it’s just easier this way; if the situation is left unresolved, Chitanda’s lingering curiosity will become insatiable.

He relays as much, but is only met with another question. “Why don’t you just ignore her?”

“She’s not the sort of person you can just ignore. Trust me, I would.”

Ibara laughs at that, some of her earlier tension dispersing as she gathers whatever humor she finds in his response. Houtarou huffs but doesn’t say anything; she’s never been the direct recipient of Chitanda’s intent gaze – but he can’t blame it all on those curious depths. If closing his eyes and plugging his ears - and ignoring the faint graze of breath from her face so close to his – would settle the issue, there wouldn’t be any matter left to resolve. Chitanda’s determination, her sheer will to discover, pushes her forward even if she needs to grab Houtarou by the wrist and tug him along to do it.

Satoshi had been there when they’d met her that first day in the clubroom; maybe he could understand it a bit better.

Their conversation finished, Ibara leaves for the Manga Club – but not before Houtarou receives his item for the Straw Millionaire exchange, and a bruise to go along with it.

***

The day ends without much fanfare – perhaps too little, considering the difficulty Houtarou has falling asleep that night. But he is lulled into dreams eventually, waking up with barely enough time to make it to the Geology Room before the final day of the Cultural Festival begins. He sits alone as usual, first with only the 144 copies of _Hyouka_ as company, but then with the addition of _A Corpse by Evening_ after a trip to the bathroom and a missed encounter with his sister.

After figuring some things out, he pulls Satoshi aside to talk, but the conversation doesn’t flow like Houtarou expects. As much as Satoshi tries to hide it behind a wry smile, something about the Juumoji incident is upsetting him, turning his normally placid grin into one of bitter dissatisfaction.

“This is a phantom thief case, a serial thief, with over a thousand suspects we’re talking about. And you’re telling me you thought of something without even considering any missing link, or mistakes made by a suspect whose identity has not even been narrowed down?”

“Well... Yeah, that’s about it.”

“HOW?!” Satoshi isn’t smiling anymore; his frustration with _something_ is written clearly on his face, but he makes no move to explain his thoughts, so Houtarou doesn’t ask for details. Instead, he summarizes his theory – to the extent that he can – as Satoshi carefully places back on his mask of calm.

When Houtarou finishes his explanation, Satoshi nods in understanding before turning to leave, a soft “I’m going to head back in” sliding off his lips.

There are things that need doing before the end of the day, to ensure the maximum number of anthologies are sold, so Houtarou calls out, “Satoshi, have Chitanda mention us preparing some item that begins with [KO] in her interview.”

Satoshi waves his hand, his back still facing Houtarou, and Houtarou hesitates. Something is clearly bothering his friend, and he’s beginning to get a better idea of it, but... It’s a bit ironic for him to expect transparency when he’s been obscuring personal information for months now. It won’t suddenly solve everything – it may not even be helpful in the first place – but Houtarou still calls out once more, “And... Can we meet to talk later?” He speaks a bit louder, not yelling, but enough to ensure Satoshi hears him.

At that, his friend spins back around. “Did you figure something else out? You can tell me now; there’s still a bit of time before the interview.”

“No, this isn’t about Juumoji. I just... wanted to talk, if that’s fine with you.”

Satoshi shrugs. “Yeah, sure, that’s cool. See you later, Houtarou!”

“See you.” With Satoshi gone, Houtarou is left to organize his thoughts; he leans against the railing and tugs at his bangs, and his deductions begin.

***

The Geology Room is packed with people. As more and more enter, cycling through with varying levels of interest or boredom, the pile of anthologies slowly but surely chips away. It grows late in the day, to the point the crowd begins to worry that Juumoji won’t show at all, and the tone of the room slowly shifts. Houtarou stretches, a bit tired from so much forced interaction, and is jolted by a sudden loud sound.

Satoshi’s phone, left on vibrate on a metal table, is buzzing loudly, bringing the entire room to silence. But, even as the shock just begins to dissipate, a spark flashes and a _bang_ rings out, and the ‘proofread manuscript’ of the Classics Club bursts into flames; the sound leaves Houtarou’s head ringing even after the disappointed crowd makes their exit.

As the Classics Club members gather to look at their earnings in the now mostly-empty room, five anthologies stare back at them; everyone drops in 200 yen each – Houtarou adds another 200 to buy a copy for his sister – and with that, _Hyouka_ is completely sold out.

Well, sold out excluding the ones he’d ‘coerced’ Tanabe into buying earlier, but they’ve received the money for it already, so it’s no longer the club’s problem.

By some inclination, whether to postpone explaining the full story of Juumoji or to leave the clubroom that is a bit dizzying from the warmth of the heater combined with the body heat from the many people recently crowded inside, Houtarou suggests they hold a celebration party.

Satoshi agrees, and Ibara lights up, and Chitanda smiles so gracefully, that Houtarou turns his head away. The school chime finally rings, declaring the Cultural Festival to be officially over, so they gather their things and head to Chitanda’s house.

When stepping outside on the main path to the school gates, the first thing Houtarou notices is the vibrant hue of green sported by the stretch of grass near the edge of the school grounds. A pulsing in his head he hadn’t noticed earlier suddenly vanishes, the very act of its disappearance making its presence known. Houtarou can’t help but pause a beat and stare, causing Satoshi to turn around and tilt his head in confusion.

 _You okay?_ His face seems to say.

 _Later,_ Houtarou mouths back.

Sometime during this last day of the Cultural Festival – almost certainly at the peak of the Juumoji incident, if Houtarou is to guess – his vision has shifted to include green.

Houtarou knows very well that he can’t do things on his own. As much as his club members might disagree, he’s not inclined to solving mysteries accurately, not by himself; the Class 2-F film is a sturdy enough reminder to keep Houtarou’s ego in check. It takes talking to someone, verbalizing and simultaneously organizing his thoughts all while receiving feedback, for anything Houtarou does to matter. Solving the Juumoji incident, and every mystery before that, would have been impossible without input from others. Satoshi doesn’t seem to acknowledge that, but Houtarou wants him to.

So, in order to figure out what the hell is going on with his vision, Houtarou is resolute in this: he needs to confide in Satoshi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slime Rancher was on sale so I finally bought it... I've been going ham on it in my spare time lol. My friends can confirm that I'm a min-maxer through and through, so optimizing cuteness is really fun.
> 
> Anyways, thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!


	6. Canary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An original scene? In my Hyouka fic? It's more likely than you think!

Houtarou drags himself out of bed like usual that morning to eat breakfast. He often takes from the fridge whatever leftovers remain of Tomoe’s breakfast; today, that means rice, a few pickled plums, and a small bowl of miso soup. Afterwards, he gets dressed, and as he brushes his teeth, he catches sight of his newly dark, cloudy, green eyes staring back at him in the bathroom mirror.

It’s more unnerving to see the green reflected there than it is to see purple in Chitanda, or indigo in Irisu, or anything else that’s been altered by his changing vision. This is a part of him, something he’s grown used to knowing as _him_ becoming something else – him, but different.

By nature of knowing from an early age that his vision was abnormal, that he was missing out on the full details of every hue, Houtarou had never thought to choose a favorite color; the joy of ‘picking’ hadn’t made sense. But, as the green stands out against the gray framing of his face, he decides that green isn’t half bad.

The only other pop of color in his outfit is the dusty blue of his jeans, worn in favor of sweatpants because he’s heading out today. Last night at Chitanda’s, Ibara assigned him and Satoshi to rolling the money they’d earned from the anthology so it could be submitted back to the school, which means they’re meeting up on campus again.

Plenty of students are milling about by the time Houtarou arrives at school, split between taking down leftover decorations, resuming normal club activities, or returning to their studies.

Houtarou enters the empty clubroom first, just a few minutes before noon. Satoshi hurries in nearly ten minutes later, belting out an apology of “Sorry, I misread the time on the clock!” immediately upon entry. Houtarou has already put the desks back to their normal positions, so Satoshi pulls out the tin of coins and the 50-coin wrappers, and they begin rolling in relative silence.

It’s a surprisingly messy business. Most of the change is clean, but there’s the odd coin so filthy they need to scrape at it to make sure they’re putting it in the correct wrapper denomination. That, coupled with the fact these coins have likely been passed between countless hands, means that the tips of their fingers are blackened before they’re even halfway through the pile.

What kind of person pays with a 500-yen coin and asks for 300 in change, anyways? They should have instated a rule denying payment with currency over 100-yen, since now the lone coin has to be put loose in the envelope. Maybe they can do so next year, if Houtarou remembers to bring it up.

It is Satoshi who eventually breaks the hush of the classroom, carrying just the faintest hint of curiosity in his voice as he asks, “So, you said yesterday you wanted to talk about something?”

Right. That was indeed a thing he had done.

Well, better to rip off the Band-Aid now, Houtarou supposes. “Yeah, I can see color now – somewhat.”

A lack of response at his left makes Houtarou glance up, only to see a slack-jawed Satoshi staring straight back, struggling for words. “You _what_?”

“Specifically, I can see purples, blues, and greens. Everything else is its usual grayscale to me.”

“... Let me get this straight. Houtarou Oreki, Mr. Little Gray Cloud, Mr. ‘If I don’t have to, I won’t,’ met his _soulmate_?”

“Say it right. ‘If I don’t have to do it, I won’t. If I have to do it, make it quick.’”

“You’re avoiding the question, my good sir.” Satoshi nudges his chair closer, coin rolling forgotten. “I need to hear the details!”

“Well, technically, I haven’t confirmed that it’s my soulmate. Any data on people with color blindness slowly regaining color vision?”

“Nope. You know that isn’t how science works, Houtarou.”

Yeah, he’d expected as much. Not that soulmates really fall under normal scientific parameters, but still.

Satoshi’s eagerly awaiting gaze pressures him to continue explaining. It’s not an outright ‘I’m curious!’ but it certainly leaves no room for further evasion. His friend is more like an elementary schooler, kicking up his feet while lying in bed, excited at the prospect of gossip, than he is a first-year high schooler.

Houtarou sighs. “How specific do I need to be?”

“If we’re talking about my basic curiosity and how much I want to know, then as specific as possible. If we’re talking about the fact that you’re the one who brought it up and probably want to ask me something afterwards... Then, still as specific as possible. You never know what information might be useful.” Glee tinges Satoshi’s voice, like he just knows this means Houtarou must put in maximum effort.

“Okay. Stop me if you have any questions, I guess. I first saw color during that visit to the Classics Club room, when we met Chitanda. It was...” He’s already pausing, considering if this specific information is vital to asking Satoshi for help – but the pause alone has indicated hesitation, and now he’ll never get away with trying to obfuscate it. “It was Chitanda’s eyes. They were purple, but I didn’t realize it at the time. I thought it was some shade I’d never seen before. Then, when we were walking home, I recognized a flower and realized it was different than how I’d seen it before, and that was when I finally noticed.”

“When we met Chitanda... You mean the first week of school, back in April?” Satoshi shakes his head. “And all this time, I didn’t know.”

“Not like I said anything to suggest otherwise. Anyways, I saw just purple for a while, during the time we were investigating Chitanda’s uncle. When we gathered with the Head Librarian and I revealed the pun behind _Hyouka,_ I saw the blue of the pen. Except it wasn’t all blues, just dark and purple-tinted ones; I’m not sure what exact shades differentiated them.”

“So the first color cropped up in the middle of April, and the second near the end of July. Anything else?”

Houtarou nods. “The events with Class 2-F and Irisu. It was after you and the others confronted me about the ending I’d come up with –”

“The others?”

“Ibara and Chitanda talked to me about it too. Ibara did just a bit before you, and Chitanda a little after.”

“I didn’t realize; they never mentioned it.”

Apparently, the movie had been playing during the Cultural Festival, but Houtarou hadn’t had the time nor desire to watch it again – although he should be at least somewhat grateful Irisu sold some of their many anthologies. Chitanda has likely thanked her plenty already; that’s all the thanks Irisu needs to get.

A hand waves in front of his face. “Earth to Houtarou. What happened with Irisu?”

Everyone in the club knows the final verdict on Hongou’s ‘true intentions,’ as Chitanda had later explained it, but Houtarou never revealed the finer details of his final conversation with the upperclassman to anyone. “I confronted her about the reality of the situation, and how she never wanted to ‘find Hongou’s intentions’ in the first place. I... think I may have yelled.” Surprise flickers across Satoshi’s face. “That evening, I stayed inside, so I didn’t even notice I could see lighter tones of blue until the next day after school, when I explained the movie to Chitanda.”

“Which places it in late August. You said it was lighter tones of blue?”

“I’m not sure of the best way to describe it. Pale things, like the sky, but also the really-blue and absolutely-not-purple things, like my pants.”

“Right; continue.”

“Well, the last one was green, which came around right at the end of the Cultural Festival, when we left for Chitanda’s house. I saw the stretch of grass near the front of the school. And now, I’m here.”

Houtarou, unlike Satoshi, has continued rolling coins during their conversation, using the times he pauses in collecting his thoughts to twiddle with the wrappers. Now he grabs the last few coins on the table and tucks them into a sheet, which Satoshi takes and places in the envelope. Their work at the school is finished.

He looks at Satoshi again. “To be honest, I don’t know much about soulmates. I figured I’d just see color and that would be that, so this drawn-out endeavor is strange. And I don’t know who my soulmate is; I don’t know the requisites for triggering the change in the first place, and it’s impossible to retrace my steps through that impossibly crowded first week of school. All I know for certain is that I get headaches when my normal vision shifts, but even that isn’t always noticeable, since sometimes I just get normal headaches.”

“Do you think it’s worth noting that the colors seem to be appearing in reverse-rainbow order?”

Violet, indigo, blue, green; it does seem to be the makings of a pattern. But – “What would be the purpose? Without previous soulmate cases to compare it to, it’s just a case study. It could be how all gradual color vision returns, or it’s random and this is a single scrambling. Hard to say without more information.”

His friend nods sagely. “No reason to not at least keep it in mind, at the very least. Can I give a preliminary hypothesis?”

“Shoot.”

“Mayaka and I are both out of the equation, obviously.” Houtarou nods; it’s fair to verbalize the statement, even if they both already know it’s true. “My first guess would be Chitanda – you said you first noticed color with her. That seems pretty fitting to me.”

Satoshi isn’t teasing or pushing his buttons. He’s legitimately suggesting the possibility, which means Houtarou has to admit what he already knows. “I did consider that. However, when she first talked to me about her uncle, we met up outside of school. I don’t remember the exact details anymore, but she was really nervous beforehand, so I joked about her confessing to be my soulmate – don’t look at me like that, I said it was a joke! I wasn’t wheedling her for information. Anyways, it didn’t faze her at all; she went straight into the story about her uncle. You know Chitanda. She wears her heart so clearly on her sleeve, I can’t see her entertaining the idea of me as a soulmate and managing to pass off the joke so easily. So, I removed her as a potential candidate.”

The story sounds worse when he admits it to another person. Just recalling it makes the tips of his ears burn. Please, Satoshi, never tell a single word of that to Ibara – or Chitanda, for that matter; definitely not Chitanda.

“I see. What about the possibility that she’s your soulmate, but unaware of it?”

“Isn’t the whole point of soulmate traits to give a notification when your soulmate is around? It seems unlikely she had no indication at all. It’s not like she was flustered and covered it up. When I talked to her, she was thinking _only_ of her uncle. Even though I was uncertain, I still at least acknowledged the possibility – but Chitanda didn’t even do that.”

“Hmm...” Satoshi puts a hand to his face in thought, scrolling through his internal database for information. “That’s a reasonable conclusion to make; there’s no recorded cases of soulmate traits failing to be identifiers, although some are vaguer than others. Without knowing her trait, it’s hard to say. You don’t know it, right?”

Houtarou shakes his head. “No way would I ask something like that out of the blue.”

“Fair enough. Then, assuming it’s not Chitanda, maybe Irisu? Soulmates are supposed to be directly corrected to your trait, and it’s hard to imagine someone being unrelated to both the _Hyouka_ incident and the Class 2-F incident being the perpetrator, considering how few people were involved.”

“It’s not Irisu.”

His dour expression settles the matter, and Satoshi quickly moves on. “Any other theories, then?”

“The best I can come up with is that it’s someone who moves around the school a lot. I ran into them sometime before going to the Geology Room, but because I didn’t actually see any purple until I met Chitanda, I couldn’t notice anything out of the ordinary until then. With indigo, they could have been walking by the hallway outside – are there any specifics on possible proximity requirements?”

“It’s normally referred to as ‘direct contact,’ although I think a better phrase would be ‘direct acknowledgement.’ This includes touch or initiating a conversation, but it also includes occasions like locking eyes, or otherwise having both members somehow realize the other is there. It’s a fine line to draw, but distance is only likely to be important during that first meeting; beyond that, being out in a hallway is feasible. Although this is the first I’ve heard of color vision being put in the delayed onset spectrum... But, sorry, that’s not super important, since it’s clearly at least possible.”

“Okay, so they were out in the hallway when we met with Mrs. Itoikawa. Then, they were at the tea house I met Irisu at – but that section of the building is pretty close to the street, so maybe they passed by on their way home from school. And, finally, they visited the club room when Juumoji was supposed to attack.”

Satoshi frowns. “It works as a theory, but don’t you think you’re putting too much on coincidence? Unless they’re stalking you, what are the odds this person visited the library and tea house on the same day as you? The tea house especially, since it’s not too far off the path we take home; you would’ve run into your soulmate a lot more times if that were the case. I can excuse the first week of school and the Cultural Festival as busy times of the school year, but otherwise it seems unlikely.”

Another sigh falls through Houtarou’s lips. It’s flimsy reasoning, but – “Can the fact they’re my soulmate counteract that unlikelihood? Something about bound fates and all that.”

“No; there are confirmed cases of people going their whole lives without triggering their soulmate trait. If meeting your soulmate isn’t guaranteed, there’s no basis for assuming you’re uniquely drawn to them.”

“Then do you have any ideas?”

“Do... I have any?” Satoshi hesitates at that, not looking confused or surprised, but maybe slightly disgruntled if anything. It’s not an expression that crosses his face often.

“Yeah. I was sort of hoping since you’re more knowledgeable about this sort of thing, you’d be able to draw a conclusion, or at least some guiding information. Not that I’m saying you have to; I just figured it’d be better than trying to conclude something by myself.” It’s difficult to verbalize his sentiment, to hint at just how badly Irisu had played him over the summer. Whatever ‘unique’ abilities Houtarou may or may not have, they are certainly worthless on their own.

“I’ve said before, Houtarou; conclusions cannot be made from databases alone.” Satoshi’s tone is flat as he reiterates what Houtarou has heard dozens of times by now.

“I know. Just thought I’d ask. Talking to you helps organize my thoughts, at least.”

They sit in silence at that; Houtarou has no further information to offer, so he just waits, patiently, to see if the database can make any non-conclusions.

“Do you even _want_ to find your soulmate, Houtarou?” Gone are any hints of a smile from Satoshi’s expression, swept away like so many leaves in the autumn wind blustering outside. He looks as he did during the Cultural Festival – pensive, mistrusting.

It’s not a question Houtarou is equipped to answer, and Satoshi knows it, so his friend pushes ahead, words tumbling out. “You supposedly ask for my help on this, but you only ask _six months_ after it started? And even though you have the means to try and resolve things, you aren’t taking any action. Finding your soulmate isn’t a game, or something to do when you’re bored, it’s –”

The conversation stalls, Satoshi edging just too close to the topic of his own soulmate to continue his sentence. Hesitation lingers as his friend sits still, mulling over his words, until something safe enough is reached. “You’re in a position to decide whether or not you want to meet them. Don’t...” Satoshi sighs; today is a day for sighing, it seems, “Don’t screw it up, okay? Think it through, before you do anything too crazy.”

At that, Satoshi grabs his drawstring bag and heads to leave.

“Satoshi?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you for listening.”

Satoshi pauses, halfway across the clubroom, the scraps of emotions he lets through his mask cycling vigorously in ways Houtarou cannot read.

“Thank you for confiding in me. I’ll be around if you need me.”

If Houtarou were to make a guess, though, he’d say the expression settles on something close to gratitude.

Satoshi leaves the clubroom with the envelope of coins, and although Houtarou hasn’t ended up any closer to finding his answer, he is at least satisfied with today’s results.

***

The second semester rolls on slowly but surely, and the Classics Club fights bravely through their second bout of midterms. Although Satoshi complains whenever he has the time about Ibara pushing him to study, the harsh regimen does boost his grades slightly; the other club members, Houtarou included, maintain their approximate rank.

From outside the window, Houtarou can see the leaves changing color; he knows they are dazzling shades of orange and red, but it looks to him like green streaking into gray. It had never been an issue before, but when contrasted with the fading vibrancy of those summer leaves, autumn seems solemn in comparison.

Chitanda is the only other member in the clubroom today. Neither the mood set by Houtarou, nor the calm of autumn, dims her cheery demeanor. Her curiosity had been set aside for midterms, but with finals so far away on the horizon, she’s back to firing on all cylinders.

For some reason, despite his failure to find the proper conclusion to Class 2-F’s movie, the curious girl in front of him still considers him a master of conclusion-making. Try as he might to get it through her head that he is _not,_ he may as well be talking to a wall. A bubbly, vibrant, personable wall, but a wall nonetheless.

But an idea pops into his head as Chitanda talks with him – a way to reiterate that he isn’t infallible. “How about this, Chitanda. Come up with some sort of situation. I’ll prove that you can’t make a theory for anything so easily.”

Her eyes shine a dazzling purple as an announcement comes on over the intercom. “Let’s use that announcement! Please come up with a theory about what that announcement just now was about!”

And so, the game commences.

***

It’s a bit different, theorizing with only Chitanda in the classroom. He feels more like he’s talking to her the day after his confrontation with Irisu – when they had gotten as close as they could to Hongou’s intentions, when he saw bright blues for the first time – than he does solving a true mystery. Maybe it’s because he isn’t taking it quite so seriously –

“Oreki... Are you really taking this seriously?”

Oops.

“I haven’t been this serious since I entered this school. You might even say that this is the first time I’ve been so serious.” Any underlying sarcasm is missed by Chitanda, who stays silent as he continues with his theory.

“X is involved with a crime.”

It’s solemn when he voices it, and Chitanda’s smile drops off her face. He laughs, trying to lighten the mood; the severity of the hypothesized situation doesn’t matter, since it’s just a game.

They push further. A crime serious enough to involve the police; a reason for the suspect to turn themselves in; conspicuous actions.

Counterfeit bills.

“But – but, but that can’t be true! It’s way too far-fetched! It’s unrealistic; illogical! It’s a terrible theory, it’s completely catastrophic!”

Chitanda’s upset voice, loud in its unexpected proximity, throbs at Houtarou’s temples. Without his noticing, she had moved herself from across the desk to his side, probably for ease of looking at the paper he’s been marking notes on. Now, Chitanda leans towards him, practically leaping out of her seat to emphasize her point; Houtarou can only draw his own chair back in retreat.

As always, she leans in an inch too close, the violet of her eyes swirling with the light of the setting sun as she blocks his field of vision.

“Woah, hey... Calm down. This is just a game, you know?” Houtarou murmurs, unable to raise his voice when he's caught in her gaze. He’d have closed his eyes had he known Chitanda would edge so near, but he didn’t, and he can’t now, so he stares and hopes his face isn’t burning noticeably from the warmth of the clubroom.

She breathes in - a beat passes. “Right! I’m sorry.” Chitanda leans back in her chair beside him. “But it’s impossible!”

Although Chitanda is correct that usually, people can exchange counterfeit bills, the possibility still exists that, if X did have one, they had been unable to return it. They push for that possibility, and, once a plausible source is found, the deduction is concluded.

“It’s game over, then.”

At that, Chitanda tilts her head. “Hey, Oreki. I seem to remember that we started this whole game as a way to settle an argument we were having about something.”

“That rings a bell. Now, what was it again?”

“I can’t recall... Oh, Oreki, I have an idea.” Her face calms, and while her eyes appear to show only the height of seriousness, the edges of her lips twitch upwards in a faint smile. “Do you want to deduce what it was?”

He blinks in surprise, and his world shifts. As Chitanda eagerly awaits his response, the clubroom glows in the warmest light Houtarou has ever seen; a brilliant, warm yellow that pours in through the window behind him, setting everything in its range alight. The scene before him is so tranquil, he pauses to commit it to memory: the Geology Room, aglow, and Chitanda standing there in front of him as always.

Her smile, contagious, makes him smile back, some warmth echoing through as he chuckles, “Give me a break.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do hope the fact that I summarize some information in this chapter isn't boring?? I consider it important because it's specifically stating Houtarou's perception of what's happened, with the details he finds most important. And considering it isn't a canon scene, I didn't want to 'fade to black' and have you assume what happens.
> 
> Thank you for reading, as always, and I really do hope you enjoyed! ;;


	7. Persimmon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Easter, everyone! I hope you and your loved ones are all safe in these difficult times.
> 
> There's a brief mention of choking/nooses this chapter. If you want to skip it, you can stop reading at "or perhaps like he’s drawn on himself with red marker" and pick up again at "Let me tell you one thing".

Bleak winter arrives swiftly, bringing with it the return of familiar grayscale hues. Kamiyama isn’t far enough north for consistent snowfall, but the sky often grows cloudy, and most of the green of the area’s vegetation shrivels away in preparation for the upcoming spring. It’s a typical winter, so Houtarou tries not to feel too kindred in spirit with those plants waiting patiently, eagerly, at the thought of a spring blooming bright with color.

The day starts off normally by every metric, but when Houtarou hears Ibara ranting in the clubroom about the process of chocolate-making, he can only imagine the carnage this February’s impending combat will instigate.

Houtarou’s wonderful friend, his dearest Satoshi, in a moment of weakness almost exactly one year ago today, had said that he would accept homemade chocolates – and _only_ homemade chocolates – on Valentine’s Day. It’s a high bar to set, but Mayaka Ibara is not one to back down from a challenge, for better or for worse.

Staying clear of the battle preparations, Houtarou winds up playing a fighting game against Satoshi at the arcade after school. Seeing his friend as the picture of good sportsmanship after Houtarou’s victory, he wonders – just briefly – how close one can consider the members of the Classics Club to be.

He’s known Ibara since elementary school; or, to word it better, he’s known _of_ her. They’d never talked back then, and only interacted a few times during middle school thanks to Satoshi. The number of times they’d had full conversations before entering high school could be counted on both hands.

Satoshi, in comparison, he’s talked to much more, despite having met him more recently. He considers Satoshi a friend, but not someone fundamentally close; they have never visited each other’s houses before, for instance.

As far as the three of them – himself, Ibara, and Satoshi – their being in the Classics Club together makes enough sense to be plausible if not probable, but it is not a club tied together by the deep bonds of rose-colored friendship. The only reason it functions even halfway like a club is because of Chitanda, the newest addition to their dysfunctional crew.

So, while Satoshi’s behavior surprises him, he questions if he knows enough about Satoshi to make such grandiose claims of change in the first place.

***

Even if he didn’t find chocolate from his sister lying outside his bedroom door, even if he didn’t check the calendar, there’s no way to avoid Valentine’s Day once a student enters school grounds. Students litter the courtyard; some hold chocolates clutched in their hands, others have them stuffed in their bags, but the topic is buzzing about anywhere you look. Although, to Houtarou’s surprise, it is Chitanda rather than Satoshi or Ibara he runs into first, but it makes little difference in the grand scheme of things. He’ll hear about Ibara’s chocolate from someone eventually, regardless of the source.

As expected, the topic inevitably turns to Ibara and her handmade chocolate soon after they exchange greetings. But after a brief lull in the conversation, Chitanda turns to him once more. “Oh. Hey, Oreki, um... Today is – well, it’s Valentine’s Day.”

Haven’t they established that already, with talk of chocolates and such?

“In my family, we don’t traditionally give gifts to those we are truly close to at the end of the year or in the summer. So, I apologize for failing to pay my compliments with a Valentine’s chocolate.”

Ah. Just like Chitanda to apologize for not doing something she isn’t required to do in the first place. Her eyes shine, seeking forgiveness that had never been necessary, so he acknowledges the comment and they head into the main building.

For Houtarou, school passes by neither quickly nor slowly; he is in no rush to receive any gifts today, after all. The only upset is the sleet pouring down by the end of the school day. He has the means to go home (an umbrella), but not the spirit necessary to brave the storm – so to the library he goes.

There’s a book on South America in the historical section, dressed in a dark emerald binding. He flips through the pages slowly, skimming the sections on cacao as his thoughts wander to the significance of today.

Valentine’s Day. It’s an especially popular date for soulmate announcements; people finally declare their undying love for the other, etc. etc. Of course, even those who haven’t found their soulmate sometimes enter relationships, but those always draw out more somber whispers from the gossipers.

Houtarou remembers some of the relief he’d felt after talking about his own situation with Satoshi. Nothing had come of it in the end, but the verbal acknowledgement grounds him in his reality just as much as the colors that swirl about in his vision do. Somewhere at this school, his soulmate is walking around – unless they’re out sick today with a cold, he supposes.

If someone were to walk up to him saying, “Please accept this!” as they hold out a heart-shaped chocolate, what would he say? If they were his soulmate, would he be inclined to take the offering? Or, if they weren’t, could he accept – knowing the person in front of him wasn’t, while knowing that someone else was?

Regardless of who it would be, he’d be pleasantly surprised to be acknowledged on such an auspicious day. But, happy? Probably not. There are too many expectations hidden in such an interaction that Houtarou feels unequipped to deal with.

_Do you even_ want _to find your soulmate?_ He’s considered Satoshi’s question multiple times, but he still can’t come to a satisfying conclusion. There are consequences to searching, to finding – or, possibly, to being found.

“Hey, Oreki?” Chitanda leans into his field of vision, her dark black hair draping over the history book as she gets his attention. She’s looking for Satoshi, which means Satoshi hasn’t gotten to the club room yet.

The second time Chitanda comes down, upset heavy in her voice, Houtarou can’t help but wish the sleet had let up just a few minutes earlier.

***

He’s promised Chitanda that he’ll deliver Ibara’s chocolate to Satoshi. It’s not something promised lightly, not to the girl crying silently, wracked with guilt. Contrary to the icy tone of her voice, her wrist is warm when he grabs it, and he does his best to console her with lies.

They rest bitter on his tongue, even worse than those that had flowed so easily back in April when he and Satoshi had fabricated the Silk Spider Society. When she stares at him, her eyes churning with an upsetting mixture of anguish and hope, he is forced to look away, undeserving of the gratitude she sends his way before she returns home for the evening.

The cellophane in Satoshi’s bag crackles before Houtarou even shakes it, but he moves it up and down for good measure, making the contents within clear to both him and Satoshi.

He wants – needs – an explanation. “If you say you did it as a joke...”

“And what if I did?”

Satoshi’s scarf is easy to grab hold of, so Houtarou tugs him near and unbalances him. “Then I’d have to teach you a lesson, for Chitanda and Ibara, by force.” His calm inflection does nothing to hide the vitriol behind it.

The explanation begins, starting with the game they’d played at the arcade, and how different Satoshi had seemed. “I used to be obsessed with so many things. The old me wanted to win just for the sake of glory, and I was a lot fussier in general. It stopped being _fun_ for me, you know? Caring so much about the prize took all the joy out of it, even when I did win. If you can’t have fun when you win, then what’s the point of it all? So, one day, I decided to just let go; I became obsessed with _not_ being obsessed. Once that changed, I could enjoy life again!”

Satoshi flings his arms up to emphasize his point, holding them there only a moment before dropping them back down to his sides, looking resentfully up at the night sky. “But there was one little problem with my plan.”

He pauses, and Houtarou fills in the gaps for himself. It’s not difficult; there’s only one thing Satoshi refuses to talk about, something that Houtarou knows not to bring up under any circumstances.

“Your soulmate.”

Houtarou speaks softly, his voice getting caught up in the wind. The signs of an oncoming headache prick at him as he tries – and fails - to understand why Satoshi is the way he is.

“My soulmate.” It’s a biting agreement. “Did I ever tell you how we found out? We locked eyes accidentally during some schoolwide presentation that gathered everyone in the auditorium. The effects were immediate.” Satoshi holds up his left hand, extending his pinkie finger under the lamplight. On it rests the imprint of a red band; to most, it would look like he’s been wearing a ring for too long and just took it off, or perhaps like he’s drawn on himself with red marker.

“I’ve always seen the red string tied off on my pinkie, but when I met her, it reached out. It was so loose and light, floating there, a reminder Mayaka exists – but the more I thought about her, the tighter it seemed to wind around her. It’s not a real string, of course – it can’t actually hurt her – but it was as if my feelings for her were slowly but surely choking her.”

The lamppost hanging above the bridge spills bright light, pale and unnatural, onto the walkway.

Satoshi clenches his fists. “Mayaka’s great. You probably don’t know how good she is, but she really is. There’s no girl like her. If Mayaka said that she wanted to be with me, it would be like a dream – but would it be okay for me to be obsessed with her? If I pulled her close by tugging on this string, would I just be tightening the noose I’ve wrapped around her neck? I haven’t found an answer yet.”

“So that’s why you didn’t accept it?”

“Let me tell you one thing, Houtarou.” Satoshi’s voice snaps, overflowing with so much dismay that Houtarou is unsure how he even triggered it. But it pours out as Satoshi talks, and keeps talking. “You have no idea how _frightening_ it is to care about someone. You’ve been off this whole time _hypothesizing_ about ‘who’ and ‘when’ and ‘why’ with your soulmate, but you haven’t even considered what will happen if you eventually meet them. Do you even know how you feel about the idea, beyond the vague hypotheticals you spin? Everyone talks about how horrible it would be to never meet your soulmate, but I think that meeting them – realizing that if you mess it up here, you’ve lost everything – is the most terrifying thing of all.”

As he speaks, Satoshi’s voice increases in volume, the words rushing out faster and faster like a burst dam, until he’s practically yelling at the end – and suddenly there’s no more words left to come out, leaving the pressure of his sudden silence to weigh down the air between them.

Frustration echoes in Houtarou’s mind at this gap he just can’t seem to bridge, but one detail stands out amidst the haze of his churning thoughts.

“... But you also hurt Chitanda in the process.”

“My plan didn’t go as smoothly as yours, Houtarou.” Somehow, after letting all that anxiety out, Satoshi seems much more at ease now; he puts his hands gently on the bridge to fiddle with some snow still clinging to the railings. “We had an agreement: Mayaka would leave the chocolate in the clubroom, and I would either accept it or leave it there. But I hadn’t considered Chitanda would still be there.”

“And you’ve told Ibara all this?”

“Of course I have!” At least Satoshi is quick to respond there, indignant at the thought of going so far without telling her.

“That said... What are you going to tell her? When will you give Ibara an answer?”

Satoshi looks straight at him, determination settling into his features. “I think my answer will come very soon.”

Houtarou raps his friend lightly on the head. It sounds like the sort of thing Satoshi might say time and time again, delaying and obfuscating the truth.

But, maybe, this time, it could be reality – an answer that comes after almost two years of careful consideration.

***

Oh. He hadn’t even noticed a change until arriving home, because it’s so dark out, but his sister looks different; her skin is flushed with color, her hair a warm shade of brown.

Brown?

Checking himself in the bathroom mirror, Houtarou confirms that his own skin has melted into its own hue, gray no longer. Tufts of his chocolate-colored hair stick up, buffeted by the wind during the long conversation outside with Satoshi, refusing to settle back down.

It seems at first to discount the ‘pattern’ of colors, which has been consistent thus far. Only when he sees his sister dressed in vibrant orange the next morning does Houtarou discover that the broader spectrum of orange – apparently including all skin tones and orange-adjacent colors like brown – has been revealed to him.

The thought passes through his mind, vaguely, briefly, that the only color Houtarou has yet to see is red.

His sister waves the chocolate he’d never finished eating last night in front of his face, and he grabs it from her, taking another bite that fades from sweet to bitter to nothingness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh jeez.., only one more chapter to go! I'll finally be able to close the ten tabs I've been keeping open as references while writing and editing lol XD I'm the type of person who hates having lots of tabs open, so that'll be a relief.
> 
> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed!


	8. Rosé

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh gosh I can't believe it's the final chapter already ;-;
> 
> Enjoy!

It’s only because Houtarou has previously spent such effort biking all the way from his house to Chitanda’s that he knows he can do it again today, this early spring morning. The air is brisk – cold enough that he can see his breath puff out before him, immediately blowing back in his face as he bikes through it – but the trek warms him up despite the minimal temperatures.

Although, today, he’s biking even further along than the Chitanda estate; Houtarou cautiously meanders downhill on the riverside path. Chitanda had requested he ‘hold an umbrella’ when she called two days ago, and it won’t be good for him to arrive with legs turned to gelatin, incapable of doing what he’s already expending so much energy for the sake of. So, he pedals, swiftly enough to arrive reasonably early but not so swiftly as to be extraneous, under the cherry tree – which looks odd now, its stark gray petals contrasting the vibrancy of Houtarou’s world this spring – and across the bridge to the shrine.

The lack of color in the tree lingers in his thoughts, reminding Houtarou that if red is the last color he has yet to discover, then it’s also the last opportunity to confirm his soulmate. If he lets it slip through his fingers, the decision will be made for him, and he’s still not sure what he wants.

But he apparently still comes to the shrine too early, according to the stuffy-nosed man that receives him, and Houtarou grumbles inwardly to himself as he sits by the kerosene stove in the corner of the room. He doesn’t recognize anyone there, and they don’t speak to him, so he watches them scuttle about with surety that melts into nervousness as time marches forward.

It becomes panic after he obligingly brings up the construction on Choukyuu Bridge, but luckily their attention stays too focused on resolving the issue to pay much attention to him, beyond his brief summons by Chitanda, and the return statement he delivers in her name. The lingering fear of the men in the room settles, and preparations begin in earnest – including Houtarou’s dreaded outfit change.

***

“It doesn’t really suit you.”

He knows as much going in, but the man who helps dress him is quick to verbalize it. Even if the pants are supposed to be short, Houtarou can’t help but think they would be better off long, so his legs would be warmer in the chilly spring air. And the hat is the worst part; just straight-up ridiculous, honestly. At least the outfit is only black and white tones, so he doesn’t feel like some sort of dolled-up peacock on top of everything else.

Black and white is classic, Houtarou reminds himself, and it isn’t eye-catching. He won’t turn anyone’s gaze with this, so it’s fine.

The gray-slated umbrella isn’t too heavy, and he can walk in the outfit’s shoes even if wearing borrowed socks is awkward, so it’s fine.

Despite the crowd beginning to gather, nobody turns his way – again, he’s not the star here, so it’s fine.

Irisu exits the building first when the living dolls gather, and maybe now it’s a little _less_ fine, because even if she’s not looking at him, Houtarou is stuck with the knowledge that she’s there. But the umbrella-holders don’t have to talk to anyone, so it’s fine.

Chitanda comes out in a twelve-layered kimono, and suddenly, it’s really _not fine._

Some of the layers are still monochrome, but he can see stripes of orange, blue-green, yellow, and a pure white amidst them, their colors repeated in the other aspects of the costume. Her face has been powdered even paler than usual, with hints of blush at her cheekbones, and something fills in her eyebrows to delicate, dark strips of black. There’s a golden ornament in her hair, the purple strings on it matching the shade of her eyes, and the rest of her hair – a wig, since Chitanda’s hair isn’t that long, but it looks natural – has been tied back with golden paper.

Crap.

It is her lips, however, that stand out to Houtarou for once; they glint in the sunlight, the palest of ash against her face, and he knows even if it’s still in monochrome that they have been painted pink with lipstick. They part, briefly, as she breathes in, taking careful steps down the staircase entryway of the shrine amidst the gasps of the growing crowd.

Crap.

Far too soon, it is his job to move behind her, to hold the umbrella at just the right angle and walk in step with her. She moves past him, her violet eyes acknowledging him for only the briefest moment before they slide away in the most collected manner he’s ever witnessed from her.

_Oh crap._

He can’t help but think that, repeatedly, as he stares at her eyes, her lips, her side profile, the ornament in her hair, the nape of her neck. For once in his life, it isn’t so much that Houtarou doesn’t want to think, so much as it is that he can’t really think right now – and that means he can’t consider why this is the case.

That confusion at least makes it easier to move through the lengthy crowd of people lined up along the street. Houtarou even catches glimpse of a tripod camera, but the thought of being on television blurs away in the general hum of _crap,_ so somehow he doesn’t get nervous.

Nobody looks his way, as expected. Everyone does, however, keep their gaze on Chitanda – Houtarou included. He stares at her to keep track of where he’s going, to make sure the umbrella is tilted over her properly, to maintain his focus in a single direction; he wants to but can’t quite see her face anymore, not her demure expression or the soft glimmer of her eyes or the sheen of her lips and –

He’s curious.

They pass under the cherry tree just then, and Houtarou might not have noticed it from beneath the umbrella, except it’s reflected in the water under the bridge and in a gust of wind rustling petals that float through the air, and everything in Houtarou’s world _snaps_ into place in a rush he’s never felt before.

The cherry tree, just barely in his field of vision but fully mirrored in the water, is a bright, dazzling pink – an out-of-season spectacle he shouldn’t be seeing in the first place, let alone in full color, but he’s here and he is.

Chitanda moves forward, reminding him that he cannot sit still and gape at the scenery, but they proceed slowly enough for him to bask in it. He looks at everything, now: the half-open and fully-open flowers blooming all around him, the glistening of sunlight on the murmuring stream, the red of the umbrella that is suddenly clear to see, and Chitanda, still walking in front of him.

Part of him wants to turn her around, to see her fully and truly for the first time, and preserve this moment with her in it, but his senses subdue that over-excitable curiosity and wrangle it into something manageable.

It settles, warm, in the pit of his stomach – an admiration, if he can be so bold as to call it that – and Houtarou laughs to himself as he acknowledges with clarity the hope that has been forcibly tucked away until now.

He wants, desperately, for Chitanda to be his soulmate – to have been all along, ever since she found him last spring in the Geology Room.

And how could he call this girl in front of him anything _but_ his soulmate? She hasn’t done anything except be herself, but now his world is stained with color as he trails along behind her, and the view he has while suspended in time on the bridge is burned rose-colored into his memory by all the fluttering cherry petals.

Houtarou doesn’t smile, as to not break the mood of the parade, but he feels content even though the wind still gusts at his bare shins and threatens to blow off his hat. He follows diligently behind Chitanda, praying for only a brief moment that the parade might never end.

***

Although the festival procession ends barely an hour and a half after it starts, Houtarou continues to feel as if he’s walking in it, floating on some unexpected emotion, even as he changes back into his normal clothes to meet up with Satoshi and Ibara. Chitanda is busy through and after lunch – cleansing impurities, or something like that – so despite his curiosity, he won’t see her lips dusted pink in their proper shade. That may be for the best; the curiosity he’s had today is probably enough to last him a lifetime.

Somehow, he gets caught up in assisting the other shrine members clean the shrine grounds; it’s not that he wants to help, nor does he want to leave – it’s simply that he is standing still while they are moving, and without a stove to crouch by he finds himself wandering over. There is much to do, enough that it takes them until the sun has nestled low along the horizon to finish up and meet at the Chitanda residence for a group meal.

“Oh, Oreki.”

He’s stepped out from the dinner room for only a moment, but suddenly Chitanda is right there on the veranda with him, bathed in the light of the sunset and looking quite normal in her casual clothes.

Even so, he finds himself staring at her as she admits her curiosity regarding the Choukyuu Bridge. She sits down at his side, leaning close as always, and very easily wheedles out his acknowledgement that he already has a suspect in mind. As it turns out, she does too.

“Then how about this? We write it out on something and show each other at the same time?”

She even has a pen on her, but alas, no paper. He’s not sure which is the more surprising.

“We could write it on our hands.”

And so, they do. It’s a bit ticklish, as he has to press down hard to make sure the ink shows up clearly, but they manage.

Houtarou’s palm reveals the phrase, “Brown hair.”

Chitanda’s shows, “Konari’s son.” However, as she stretches out her arm to line it up with his, the sleeve of her shirt rolls back more than usual; tucked behind it, their edges peeking up from her wrist, are the scribbles of what looks like more writing. She doesn’t mention it in her analysis, so he waits to see if it comes up, but it doesn’t.

That curiosity from earlier prickles back at him, even as he tries to shut it down. If she hasn’t explained it, it’s not relevant, but – “Did you write something else on your wrist? Sorry, I didn’t quite catch it.”

“Oh, this?” Chitanda tugs back her shirt sleeve the slightest amount, revealing the words in full and showing them to him.

_Who’re you?_

“It’s my soulmate trait; the type that tells you the first words your soulmate will say to you. Actually, I’d forgotten it was there. I apologize for the confusion.”

She says it so calmly, like it’s nothing at all. His ears warm at her words, and he can’t help but think back immediately to their meeting – what had he said? He can only picture purple, that first color suddenly dropped into his life, and the mystery that followed it; everything else is a year-old blur.

“Oh.”

But Chitanda is apparently unfazed by conversation on soulmates, despite her usually easily-flustered nature, and she continues to speak without much thought. “It hasn’t been that useful, honestly. I’m sure you can imagine, but do you know how many sorts of people I’ve heard that introductory sentence from? It happens when you’re walking in the hallway at school and a teacher doesn’t think you have permission to be there – a teacher, Oreki!” She giggles to herself softly, bubbling with cheer. “But, well, my soulmate has a trait too, so I learned a long time ago to be patient about it.”

_What about the possibility that she’s your soulmate, but unaware of it?_

Houtarou could probably bang his head against a wall right about now, recalling Satoshi’s words. Chitanda, the one person whose brimming curiosity makes her just _have_ to know nigh everything, decided on this one matter to just let things happen as they will?

He doesn’t respond, too focused on making sure the flush that hopefully isn’t already visible on his face continues to not be visible.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to derail the conversation.”

“No, it’s fine.”

Chitanda hums in acknowledgement, and they lapse into silence.

It’s considered rude – by whom, Houtarou isn’t sure, but he knows it is – to ask about someone else’s soulmate trait; even Chitanda seems aware. But her toes wiggle about from beneath her socks, and she wraps her hands tightly together, as though she has a question and is trying her best not to ask it.

“Mine’s, uh... color blindness.”

“Oh no, I’m so sorry! I don’t mean to make a fuss about a little trait like mine when yours is something like that. How insensitive of me.”

“No, it’s – it’s fine.” Hadn’t he just said that a minute ago? “It’s something I’d always had, so there wasn’t anything to get used to. It’s just the way I lived my life, in hues of monochrome.”

Chitanda’s toes have stopped wiggling, and she unfolds her hands to rest them at her side. “Well, I hope that you find your soulmate someday. This is just my opinion, but I think color is quite wonderful. It would be lovely for you to experience it in its entirety as well, when the time comes.”

His face is almost certainly alight now, as he catches the brilliant amethyst shimmer of her eyes in the sunset, so it is Houtarou’s turn to respond with a hum, not trusting himself to speak in that moment.

The conversation trails along at Chitanda’s pace, her explanation of the shrine conflict switching into a discussion of elective options for second years. He regains his voice by the time she asks him a question, and he manages to respond, “Oh, I went with the humanities.” She asks why; he explains.

“I chose science.”

Houtarou can see why, knowing her grades and her insatiable curiosity, but Chitanda thinks beyond that as she describes her position within the Chitanda family. There’s so much on her shoulders – so much that needs to be done, and she can’t do it by herself as is; even if she runs the agriculture side of things, someone else needs to be there to manage the company.

“By the way...”

“As far as the managerial perspective that you determined wasn’t for you – what if I were to take on that task for myself?”

It flows, effortlessly, into – 

“What if the first words I said to you, that day back in April, were ‘Who’re you’?”

The air out on the porch is horribly cold, and Houtarou wants to crawl back into the dining space to eat something hot, to be somewhere warm so that the heat on his face appears more natural. He wants to be eating something, so the force weighing his tongue down is justified, or he at least has _time_ to think because he’s already said ‘by the way’ and there’s no possibility of him continuing that statement honestly.

If he messes up here, he’s lost his chance forever. That reminder from Satoshi is enough to burn away at his chest, the possibility of discovery and of loss materializing before him in Chitanda’s slight frame.

He cares, so much, so terribly much that it feels unreal – and, like Satoshi, he can’t help but turn away at the realization, for fear of breaking what he now holds precious in his hands.

Pretending there’s nothing important on his mind, Houtarou finally mutters, “It’s starting to get cold, huh?”

Chitanda looks at him, surprised – and even though she’s not dressed up, with no false blush painted on her face with rogue, it is her bright and colorful self, adorned simply with a smile, that lifts Houtarou’s spirits out of his spiral of self-doubting melancholy.

“No, it’s spring, silly!”

He knows the light of the sunset to be yellow, but here and now, sitting across from Chitanda on the edge of the veranda, his small world – the one Chitanda introduced him to – glows with a rose-tinted hue.

It’s not something he’s ever asked for, but it’s here, and Houtarou has no complaints.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaa I'm done! >.< Finishing a multi-chapter fic is such a strange feeling, this is months of work all being tied up all of a sudden!
> 
> As you can probably tell from having read this whole fic, there was dialogue taken from the anime and novels, although I tried to skip over the meat of canon events to focus on my interpretations. I tagged it as character study because I wanted to take a look at "how would the events of canon play out with soulmate mechanics built into their world?" rather than a complete overhaul of the storyline. I think it shapes an interesting explanation for some of the main cast’s behavior.
> 
> I'm very happy with how it turned out, and I do hope that you enjoyed as well! As always, thank you so much for reading!


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